
^2. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



THE PARABLE BOOK 



OUR DIVINE LORD'S OWN STORIES 




SHEEPFOLD 




AN AFTERNOON HOUR Willi Mir 



niKk. Chapter II. 



THE PARABLE BOOK 

M 

Our Divine Lord's Own Stories 



Retold for You by Children 




ILLUSTRATED 

With Masterpieces from Dore, Bida, Hofmann, and other artists 

And with numerous Pen Sketches by B. E. Waddell and Bess Bethel Crank 



& 



You call Me Master and Lord: and you say well, 
for so I am. St. JOHN xiii. 13. 

Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words 
shall not pass away. St. MATTHEW xxiv. 35. 

Ah! ah! ah! Lord, behold, I cannot speak, for I am 

a child. — And the Lord said to me: 

Behold, I have given My words in thy mouth. 

Jer. i. 6, 9. 



180 North Wabash Avenue 
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 



He shall feed His flock like a Shepherd: 

He shall gather together the lambs with His arm, 

and shall take them up in Ilis bosom. 

Is. xl. II. 




?3 



r"} to 



TKlibil ©bstat. 



P. L. BIERMAXX 

Censor Deputatus 



fmprimatur. 

GEORGE WILLIAM MUNDELEIN ' 
. Irchbishop of Chicago 



DEC -8 '21 



Copyright, 1921 

The Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur 

Printed in U. S. A. 



§T.! A630643 



5£ 



©etucation 



WITH REVERENT LOVE FOR THE GOOD SHEPHERD, OUR BLESSED LORD JESUS, 

AND FOR ALL OF HIS DIVINE TEACHINGS, 

THIS SIMPLE PICTURE BOOK 

WHICH CONTAINS HIS OWN STORIES, RETOLD BY CHILDREN, 

IS OFFERED TO HIM AND TO ALL THE LITTLE ONES OF HIS FLOCK 

BY THE SISTERS OF NOTRE DAME DE NAMUR, 

IN THE HOPE THAT, THROUGH THESE SACRED PARABLES, MANY SOULS 

MAY HEAR THE EVER-LIVING VOICE OF JESUS AND BE, IN VERY TRUTH 

"TAUGHT OF GOD." 

ST. JOHN vi. 45; IS. liv. 13. 




OUR DIVINE LORD'S OWN COUNTRY 

PA I. I' S T I N E 



FOREWORD TO "PARENTS 

THE PARABLE BOOK belongs to a series of illustrated 
publications which Extension Press, under the auspices 
of The Catholic Church Extension Society, offers to you 
for your children. The earlier books of the series are in verse 
and treat of events in the life of Christ, the sacred stories being 
placed upon the lips of little children. This method having 
found favor with child readers, and with their parents and 
teachers as well, the author now presents a larger work based 
upon the same principles and vitalized by the same methods, 
though it has taken the form of a prose story which serves as an 
envelope for the Sacred Parables. 

The end of all religious teaching is to bring the Lord Jesus, 
His divine influence, His words, His example, into continuous, 
quickening touch with the minds and hearts of those whom we 
are educating. To do this more surely and more effectively, 
the author of THE PARABLE BOOK has placed between 
herself and her child readers other children, like themselves; 
and these children, whose happy family life furnishes the vari- 
ous episodes of the envelope story, have Jesus as their daily 
Companion and their intimate Friend. 

It may be permitted here to quote what the author has said 
concerning the sources used in preparing her work. The ref- 
erence books mentioned will be of particular interest to parents 
who wish to lead and encourage their children in the study of 
Christ. 



Chief among the publications that were helpful to me is one which I 
desire especially to mention. It is The Life of Jesus Christ According to 
the Gospel History, by Rev. A. J. Maas, S. J . Not only did the harmonized 
scripture narrative presented by Father Maas serve me as a safe guide 
when (the better to achieve my aims in teaching children) I found it 
expedient to combine passages from two or more Gospels ; but throughout 
my studies I was aided by the notes and explanations which this generous 
and well-informed writer has placed so conveniently on every page of his 
scholarly book. 

Another author to whom I owe more than can be measured is the 
Abbe Constant Fouard whose volumes on The Christ, the Son of God, one 
may read and re-read with increasing delight in their perennial newness. 

Directly (it is true) a simple story, such as this which ventures to 
assume as title THE PARABLE BOOK, has very little connection with 
the learned works to which reference has been made. And yet, had I 
not spent unnumbered hours of study over pages written by masters in 
biblical knowledge, I would not have dared, with a teacher's eager hand, 
to lay hold on "Our Divine Lord's Own Stories," designing, for His sake 
and the sake of His little ones, to weave those masterpieces of sacred 
teaching into a story of my own making — a story by which I hope to bring 
the very Voice of Jesus close to the ear and the mind and the heart of each 
child who reads THE PARABLE BOOK. 

It is not my expectation that the very youngest of the child readers 
will understand at once everything which is included in this book. I had 
in mind, not a class of children all of one age, but the children of a family, 
ranging in age from six to fifteen years — of an age with the several chil- 
dren in my story. Yet, as the youngest child in a family sees and hears 
and remembers more than we give him credit for, so even the youngest 
listener will take in much, very much, that is told by THE PARABLE 
BOOK. Perhaps we count less than we should upon the wonderful recep- 
tive capacity of a child's pure soul which has as abiding Guest the Holy 
Spirit and as continual nourishment an inflowing stream of divine grace 
won by innocent prayer. The Lord Jesus himself tells us that the seed 
of the word of God groweth secretly, whilst we know not, and it bringeth 
forth first the blade, then the ear. afterwards the full corn in the ear. 
May He grant such growth to the good seeds that are sown by this little 
story, a seed-bag (as it were) for carrying the divine words which He 
left in the keeping of His Holy Church. 

Words, even divine words grace-saturated, find quicker entrance into 
the mind and more permanent lodgment there when they are accompanied 
by the vital appeal made by beautiful pictures. Therefore, 1 have relied 
much upon illustrations; and these our publisher lias given with lavish 
hand. It is but fitting that T should express my deep gratitude for such 
generous co-operation, together with my hope that, thus enriched with art 
treasures, this little book may be found not unworthv to hold OUB 
DIVINE LORD'S OWN STORIES. 



Among the most beautiful illustrations in the following pages 
are several which have been borrowed from Christ's Life 
in Pictures (published by Extension Press). Any reader, the 
youngest or the oldest, will find this valuable collection of 
masterpieces a great help in the study of Our Lord. It may well 
be the companion volume to either of the works referred to 
above by the author of THE PARABLE BOOK. 

Some of the drawings and photographs which the author 
gathered from various sources for these pages are reproduced 
through the courtesy of those. who hold the copyright. Kind 
permission was likewise granted for the reprinting of verses 
which first appeared in The Ave Maria and are now inwoven 
with Chapter XV of this book. The Communion Hymn used 
in the same chapter has been borrowed from Gospel Verses for 
Holy Communion, by a Sister of Notre Dame. All of these 
privileges are acknowledged with cordial appreciation of the 
kindness shown. 




CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I. GOOD NEWS 

Little David's family is introduced, and someone is expected at 
Maplewood. . . . ....... 

CHAPTER II. THE WAY IT BEGAN 

The children entertain Mother in the sun-parlor. They tell about 
Our Lord's Own Country and events of His early life. Father 
Tim appears on the scene. . . . . 



CHAPTER III. FATHER TIMOTHY HAS AN IDEA 

The children continue their entertainment. Moira has a secret. 
Father Tim suggests the study of Our Lord's Own Stories. 
Father appears and then the old hall clock/ has something 
to say. . . 25 

CHAPTER IV. THE SOWER SOWETH HIS SEED 

A warm afternoon and a lovely cool place. Moira knows her parable. 

Someone at the telephone makes an engagement. ... 41 

CHAPTER V. THE LAKESHORE PARABLES 

The children recite their parables for Father Tim. "Good seeds, good 
deeds." The boys discuss their garden work and their scout 
plans. A surprise party starts down Maple Avenue. . . 48 

CHAPTER VI. HE COMMANDETH WINDS AND WAVES 

Father spends an evening with the children. "A mos' unnachel bad 
. stohm." Michael does his part for old Dan and Susan. "What 

will the storm leave of our garden?" ..... 60 

CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND THE TWO BIG BOYS 

Scout plans again. "The stories the soldier boys liked best of all." 
Father tells about Our Lord's scout disciples. The boys dream 
about a new St. Stanislaus Company. ..... 71 

CHAPTER VIII. A SUNDAY MORNING WALK 

Father and James start out for early Mass. A garden wrecked by 
the storm. James makes a manly resolution. The truth about 
Michael. Father Tim scores a good point. "Sowing His Seeds." 
Father tells James a story. A scout breakfast. ... 88 



CHAPTER IX. THE GOOD SHEPHERD 

The Pastor's garden and those clever boy scouts. Father Tim among 
his village folk. "The shepherd's crook." An evening call, 
expected and unexpected. The true Good Shepherd. Two 
pictures for little David. . ....... 98 

CHAPTER X. SURPRISES 

"What is that peculiar noise?" Pictures and Parables. More sur- 
prises. Moira receives a present and makes a promise. . .111 

CHAPTER XI. YOUR FATHER AND MY FATHER 

More moving pictures. Davy wants to say a parable, too. Father 
Tim's memories and a word about Michael's vocation. A First 
Communion Day is chosen for little David. . . . .123 

CHAPTER XII. MORE PARABLES 

Mother's elm-tree parlor. Michael brings his Parable Book, and we 
see how it was made. Understanding and a good heart. Some- 
thing about Aunt Phyllis and Jeanne. . . . . 143 

CHAPTER XIII. MORE PLANS FOR MICHAEL 

Filling the last pages of the Parable Book. "Come, follow Me !" 
Michael tells Mother how he heard the call. A brave boy scout's 
high ambition. James, his garden, and a resolution kept. Good 
news again. A sea voyage is planned. . . . . . 159 

CHAPTER XIV. FATHER TIMOTHY AT HOME 

The boy scouts and Captain Peter. Little David pays Father Tim 
a visit and meets a strange gentleman. Parables again. Moira 
meets the strange gentleman, too. . . . . . .178 

CHAPTER XV. OUR LADY'S BIRTHDAY 

"It's my First Communion Day." On the way to church. Little 
David's prayer for Michael. The great mystery of Holy Mass 
and Communion. "Come unto Me!" A party for Our Lady's 
Birthday. Messages from over seas. "Jesus, Good Shepherd and 
Divine Physician, in Thee we place our trust." . . . 195 

A LIST OF THE SACRED PARABLFS THAT ARE ENCLOSED 
IN THE SEVERAL CHAPTERS OF THE ENVELOPE STORY 
WILL BE FOUND AT THE END OF THIS HOOK. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Full Page Pictures 



Frontispiece. An Hour with Mother. (Drawing) 

Map of Palestine. Our Lord's Own Country 

Unless Ye Become as Little Children. 

The Divine Shepherd Boy. 

Return of the Holy Family to Nazareth 

The Most Blessed Trinity and the Holy Family. 

Christ in the Desert. His Temptation. 

Calling of the First Disciples. Lake Galilee, 

Christ Taking Leave of His Mother. 

Christ Teaching from a Fisherman's Boat, 

Child Reciting the Parable of the Sower. (Drawing) 

Parable of the Sower. 

Parable of the Wheat and the Cockle. 

The Fishing Net. 

The Storm on Lake Galilee. 

Christ Healing the Sick. 

Parable of the Good Samaritan. Part I. 

Parable of the Good Samaritan. Part II, 

Parable of the Barren Fig Tree. 

Parable of the Lost Sheep. 

Parable of the Good Shepherd. 

Parable of the Lost Groat. 

Virgin Most Pure. Mary in Her Girlhood. 

Parable of the Prodigal Son. His Departure. 

Parable of the Prodigal Son. His Return. 

Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican. 

Christ Blessing Little Children. . 

Christ Teaching the Multitude. . 

Lazarus at the Rich Man's Gate. . . 

Parable of the Talents. 

Christ and the Rich Young Man. 

Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. 

Consider the Lilies of the Field. 

The Virgin Mary Among Lilies. 

A True Child of Mary. 

First Holy Communion of Children. (Drazving) 

Jesus, the Good Shepherd. .... 



B. E. Waddell 


ii 


Bess Bethel Crank vi 


Bida 


ix 


Murillo 


14 


Dob son 


l 7 


Volkel 


20 


Hofmann 


26 


Bida 


3 1 


Plockhorst 


37 


Hofmann 


40 


B. E. Waddell 


42 


H. I. Robert 


44 


Unknozun 


50 


Wm. Hole 


66 


Bida 


68 


Hofmann 


76 


Siemcnroth 


83 


Dore 


85 


Unknozvn 


93 


Kehren 


104 


Dob son 


109 


Millais 


117 


Sinkel 


121 


Bida 


126 


Dore 


128 


Dore 


134 


Plockhorst 


140 


Hofmann 


149 


Dore 


153 


Unknozvn 


161 


Hofmann 


170 


Unknozvn 


187 


Le J c unc 


192 


Azambre 


197 


Photograph 


203 


B. E. 'Waddell 


205 


Crosio 


210 



PARTIAL LIST OF SMALLER PICTURES 

Biblical Subjects 

page 
The Boy Christ in the Home of His Parents. 18 

Nazareth Among the Hills of Galilee 19 

Jesus Baptized by St. John in the River Jordan 22 

Christ Walking with His Disciples in Galilee. .... 33 

Jesus at the Wedding Feast in Cana of Galilee 35 

The Divine Sower. .......... 46 

Eastern Plowing and Sowing. ........ 47 

The Good Shepherd 59 

The Enemies of Our Lord. ........ 77 

Sowing His Good Seeds Year After Year. ..... 92 

Young David and His Lamb Rescued from the Lion. . . . 106 

Christ Giving Sight to the Blind Man. . . . . . 108 

A Flock of Sheep. . . .112 

Ancient Sheepfold . . . . .113 

Finding the Lost Sheep. . . . . . . . . .114 

Flocks with Their Herdsmen. . . . . . . . .123 

A Roof Garden in Palestine. . . . . . . . . 1 24 

Parable of the Prodigal Son. "In a Far Country." . . . i 27 
Parable of the Prodigal Son. "Bring the Best Robe." . . . [30 

Christ on the Road to Jericho. .138 

Roman Silver Penny Used in Palestine. . . . . . .147 

Ancient Lamp with Lighted Wick. . . . . . . . n>; 

Camels Passing Through Needle's Eye. . . . . . 168 

Five Sparrows. "Your Heavenly Father Feedeth Them." . [93 
Christ Among the Lilies. "Come Unto Me." . . . .204 

The Guardian Angel's Prayer. ........ 207 

THERE ARE, IN ADDITION TO THE ABOVE PICTURES, MANY PEN 
DRAWINGS THAI il II [NGLY [LLUSTRATE THE ENVELOPE STORY. 




CHAPTER I 

GOOD NEWS 

^AVID had good news. He was just filled 
full with good news. It shone in his 
big blue eyes. It puffed out his plump 
cheeks till they looked like two rosy apples. 
But David kept his lips shut in a tight, 
straight line. That was the way Mother did 
when you asked her something she did not 
wish to tell; James did it, too. 

James, you know, is David's big brother; not very big, but 
a good deal bigger than David. He goes to school; and so 
does Moira, the nicest sister a boy ever had. David always 
misses them when they are at school; and on this particular 
sunny spring day that I am telling you about, he missed them 
more than ever. At quarter past three by the big hall clock, 
David would tell that good news; but not one minute sooner. 
He knew just how the two hands of the clock pointed at quarter 
past three; that was the time when the school 'bus always came 
down the avenue and dropped James and Moira at the gate. 

No one had really asked David to tell his good news; nobody 
was around. Mother had been very busy ever since the postman 
brought the letter. She was getting ready for — well, that was 
the good news. And Lyda (David could hear her singing "Ole 
Kentucky Home") was down in the laundry, a place which 
David was not permitted to enter on "busy days." Anyway, 
David would not tell Lyda; no, not till he had told the good 
news to James and Moira. They had a right to hear it first, 
because — well, you will know why when you know the news. 
David was standing at the wide, open window in the sun- 
parlor. Through the budding trees, where birds were merrily 



building their nests, he could see the two neighbor children 
picking the first dandelions on their own smooth lawn — a boy 
in white and a little girl in blue. David wanted to call to them; 
he knew just how they would come running, over the soft, new 
grass, to the opening in the brown hedge. He cupped his chubby 
hands round his mouth to make a trumpet (the way James did), 
but suddenly he put the hands down again and clasped them 
tight behind his back. Of course, if he shouted, the good news 
would come out! 

So David turned squarely away from the wide breezy win- 
dow. As he did so, his warm cheek touched right against the 
big cold nose of Towzer, and David threw his arms round the 
neck of the handsome St. Bernard dog. 




"Good Towzer! you came in here to find me; didn't you? 
You wondered why I wasn't outdoors this fine day; didn't you, 
old Towzer? Well, you see, we got good news; Mother got 
it in a letter. Where were you when the postman brought the 
letter, Towzer? Mother read it to me, and then I listened 
while she telephoned it to Father. And Mother let me talk 
in the 'phone to tell Father how mighty glad I am; Father 
laughed, and the laugh tickled my ear. He said he was mighty 
glad, too. Towzer, it's the best news. Fd love to tell you, 
Towzer." 



Towzer wagged his bushy brown and white tail, lifted one 
heavy white paw and then the other, twitched his big silky 
ears, and rubbed his handsome head against David's golden 
curls; then he looked a long look at his little master, his eyes 
seeming to speak some kind of dog language. At least, David 
thought so. 

"I'd really love to tell you, Towzer. But you don't mind 
waiting a while, do you? You be round when James and Moira 
come home from school, and you'll hear it the very minute 
they do." 

Towzer barked merrily. He loved the names of James and 
Moira, and he loved to hear little David talk in that bright, 
happy way. 

"That's all right now; isn't it, Towzer? You're satisfied 
now; aren't you, Towzer? You know I'd love to tell. Per- 
haps—" 

At that moment, the door at the farther end of the sun- 
parlor opened, and there stood Mother. The open door showed 
a pretty bedroom that was like a piece of 
the sun-parlor cut off from the rest of it. 
Mother had clean linen sheets and a lot of 
fluffy white things over her arm. 

"David," she called, "it's about time for 
little brother to wake from his nap. Will you 
please go upstairs and tell him that Mother 
can't come just now? I'm sure he will be 
glad to see you. But go in softly, David; let little brother have 
his nap out if he is still sleeping." 

A thought popped into David's head! He could hardly 
wait for Mother to finish speaking. "Yes, Mother," he said 
quickly; and after a soft pat on Towzer's nose, he flew through 
the door that led into the hall. There the big dog stood, longing 
to follow his little master. But, favorite though he was with the 
whole family, Towzer knew he might not pass that door unless 
he was specially invited to do so. 




The idea which had popped into David's head was this: 
"Why not tell the good news to little brother?" Buddy had just 
as much right to hear it as James had, or Moira. 

Up the stairs he went; not two at a time, the way James 
did when he was in a great hurry; but, anyway, not two feet 
on each step, as David used to climb, long ago, when he was 
very little. And he didn't even notice that he dropped one of 
his slippers on the lowest step. 

David slipped into Mother's room very softly and, as he 
crept close to the railing of little brother's white bed (which 
had been his own bed until Buddy came), he saw that the baby 
was fast asleep. 

This tiny sleeper was still quite a wonderful thing to David ; 
for Buddy, you must know, had been in the family only a few 
months. David remembered very well the morning that he 
came, and how Father took the three of them, James, Moira 
and himself, into Mother's room to see the new baby. They 
had all been praying very hard for a little sister, because Moira 
wanted a little sister so much. So, of course, they thought the 
little sister had come. 

When Mother said so sweetly and softly, "Come, 
David, and kiss your little brother," why, David 
just stretched his blue eyes wide with surprise, and 
said with a gasp, "Mother! The angels made a mis- 
take!" Then, looking at the wee baby brother, he 
added, "But let's keep him anyway, Mother; the 
angels might feel bad if we tried to exchange him 
for a little sister." From that moment, David loved 
his little "Buddy," as he fondly called him; and very 
soon everybody noticed that Buddy loved David 
m?stake A !*' better than anyone else, except Mother. 

David was not thinking of this now, as he stood there wait- 
ing for Buddy to wake up, and wishing very, very hard that he 
would wake up soon. He was thinking of the good news. 

If he said it softly, so softly that even a baby would not be 




disturbed, Buddy might hear it in his dreams; and then he 
would smile, as he did sometimes when Mother said he was 
listening to angels who came to whisper good news about 
Heaven. 

David's eyes were getting bigger and more shining. David's 
cheeks were puffing out and getting more rosy. Then came the 
explosion! 

The good news just burst out: "MICHAEL'S COMING!" 

It was like a happy little shout; David himself was surprised. 
Baby opened his eyes, threw out his tiny arms, and screwed up 
his little face in such a funny way that David laughed out loud. 
Kicking off his one slipper, he climbed into the white cot, where 
he cuddled down close beside Buddy. 

"Goo, goo, goo!" said Buddy. The funny little face was 
smiling now. 

"Good, you say? Of course it's good, Buddy. I knew you'd 
like to hear it. But really, I didn't mean to wake you up. You're 
glad I did though; aren't you, Buddy?" 

"Goo, goo, goo!" said Buddy, trying to clap his little hands; 
so David thought, and he clapped his hands, too. 

"You're right, Buddy. It's the best news I ever heard; that 
is, it's the best since you came. Now, do you want to know who 
Michael is?" 

"Woo, woo, woo?" sputtered Baby. 

"Well, he's Michael; there's only one Michael, and Father 
says he's the finest boy he knows. He's our cousin, my cousin 
and your cousin; he belongs to all of us, and he's coming here 
to live in our home." 

Of course, Buddy kept on saying "Good! Good!" thrusting 
soft pink fists into David's face; and David kept on telling who 
Michael was. 

"He can punch better than you can, Buddy. James said he's 
fine with the punching bag and the boxing gloves; and he's a 
great ball player, too. That is, he used to be; but he's different 
now. You see, he's a boy scout, Buddy, and he got hurt that 



time when the boy scouts had to take the place of the police- 
men, when the policemen were on a strike. Some big, rough 
fellow hurt Michael. Father says Michael acted like a man 
and a soldier, and he saved a lady from being run over in the 
street. He got a medal for it; our Michael did. 

"Father says Michael will be all right again; that's why he's 
coming here, so he can get his legs fixed up. You see, Michael 
hasn't got any mother. That's too bad, isn't it, Buddy? But he 
calls our mother, Motheranna ; and he calls Father, Uncle James. 
Michael's father is a soldier. He's a soldier all the time; not 
the way our father was a soldier. Buddy, you weren't here 
when our father was in the war; and you don't know how 
hard we prayed, and how glad we were when he came home 
and didn't have to go off soldiering any more." 

"Goo, goo, goo, goo!" said Buddy. And he kept on saying it; 
for his bright little eyes had spied Mother leaning over the cot. 
"O Mother!" laughed David, "I didn't know you were here!" 

Mother jumped David out of the cot, and she 
gave him his two slippers to put on. Just when 
he finished buttoning the ankle straps, he heard 
Moira calling in the hall, "Mother! 
Mother! We're home!" 

Then came James's big voice, 
"Where's Mother?" And that very 
minute David was at the head of the stairs, shout- 
ing his good news. 

"MICHAEL'S COMING! He'll be here this 
evening! Michael's coming! He's on the train now! Father's 
going to the station to meet him. Mother's got the little sun- 
room all ready for Michael, so he won't have to go up and 
down stairs at all." 

James bounded up the stairs, two or three at a time, passed 
David like a flash, and was in Mother's room. That was James's 
way. When he was mighty glad (or when he was sad or mad ) 
he did not open his lips to say a word. 






"father laughed and it 



Moira, in her delight, danced about the wide green hall like 
a pink butterfly — a pink butterfly that could sing, for she kept 
on chirping in her high, happy voice, "I'm glad! I'm mighty, 
mighty glad!" 

Then she flew up the stairs and gave David a big hug — a 
hug with the butterfly wings that were made by her loose pink 
linen coat. 

"Davy, you're a darling, to tell us the 
very first minute, and without even a wee 
bit of teasing!" 

As soon as David could get his breath, 
he said, straightening himself up, the way 
James did, "I knew you'd be mighty glad. 
We're all mighty glad. Father's mighty 
glad; he laughed in the telephone and it 
tickled my ear." 

A short, happy bark at the foot of the 
stairs told David that Towzer wanted some notice, too. There 
stood the big brown and white dog, waving his bushy tail and 
looking up at David with knowing eyes. 

"Good Towzer! I'm glad you heard it, too. You're mighty 
glad Michael's coming; aren't you, Towzer? Michael's a fine 
boy, Towzer!" 

Another bark! Not a loud, outdoors bark, but just a polite 
answer; and Towzer lifted one big white paw. David hurried 
down stairs and shook hands very politely; he knew that Towzer 
wanted to congratulate him and the whole family. 

One more glad bark! Then Towzer, like the well-trained 
dog he was, started back to the sun-parlor. He understood very 
clearly that the beautiful front hall, where the rugs were as 
soft as green moss under his shaggy feet, was not the place 
for him. But this was "an extraordinary occasion," as Moira 
would say; for Moira loves big words, you know. Besides, 
had not Master David told him to be around the very minute 
that James and Moira got home? 



As soon as they were in the sun-parlor, David and Towzer 
had the gladdest kind of a romp; and Towzer got so enthusiastic 
that he barked every time David said, "MICHAEL!" 

So that is the way David told the good news. 

But what has Michael to do with "The Parable Book"? 
Everything. That is, if you mean this particular Parable Book. 
Why, if it had not been for Michael, this particular Parable 
Book would never have been made. 

Just wait, and you shall see for yourself. 




CHAPTER II 

THE WAY IT BEGAN 

THEY were all in the sun-parlor, all except Mother and 
Father. Even Buddy was there. He was having a lively 
time in the arms of big, good-natured Lyda, who had 
drawn her chair into the very midst of the brightest stream of 
sunshine. Bobbing her woolly, white-capped head from side to 
side, she hummed an old tune while Baby crowed and struck out 
his hands, with funny little fingers spread as wide as he could 
stretch them. He seemed to be aiming at Lyda's smiling black 
face and glistening rows of teeth, though he was only batting 
the sunbeams. However, with all his gleeful crowing, Buddy 
was not the center of interest on that afternoon in the sun- 
parlor. 

At the farther end of the room, behind a 
broad flat desk, low enough for the children 
to gather round it, sat Michael — none other 
than Michael — looking and feeling quite at 
home among his cousins. The boy seemed to 
be about fifteen years old. He had strong, 
well-built shoulders and a large head covered 
with very black hair, thick, glossy, and rather 
long. Perhaps it was the thick, black hair that 
made Michael's face look so very white ; and certainly the white- 
ness of his broad forehead and thin cheeks made his eyes look 
dark and shining — for his eyes were really blue, like Father's. 
In fact, Michael looked more like Father than James did. Every- 
body noticed this whenever Michael was introduced; and it 




always pleased both of the boys to hear people remark, "How 
closely Michael resembles his Uncle James!" 

David was perched on the arm of Michael's big desk-chair. 
Towzer was lying near enough to be half hidden behind the 
desk. Moira was leaning over the desk at one side, and James 
at the other. 

"Shall I call Mother now, Michael?" It was Moira who 
said this; and she straightened herself up, giving arms and back 
a good stretch. She had been bending over a big book on the 
desk. "Do we know it well enough now, Michael?" she asked. 

"Won't Mother be s'prised!" cried David, before Michael 
had a chance to answer Moira. Then he, too, gave his arms a 
good stretch. And while his eyelids were squeezed shut and 
his mouth was open for a yawn, one of his chubby fists went right 
into Michael's eye. 

"Look here, you little rascal!" laughed Michael. "Do you 
want a fight with a man my size?" And then followed a lively 
tussle in the big chair behind the desk, Towzer joining in and 
barking merrily, for, of all things, Towzer liked best a make- 
believe fight, especially when little David was in it. 

Meanwhile, not waiting for Michael's answer, Moira had 
run to call Mother to be "s'prised," as David said; and James 
had pushed a large armchair into the place where Mother liked 
to sit when she spent an afternoon hour with the children in the 
sun-parlor. From this spot one could look out through an arch 
in the grape trellis which had been cleverly built to shelter the 
glass room when the summer sun became too hot. 

But at this time it was early spring. April had scarcely 
begun. The grape-vines wore their new crimped leaves; and 
through the trellis could be seen the long vegetable garden where 
rows and rows of little green things were pushing up through 
the brown earth. 

When Mother came into the room, David's tussle and 




Towzer's barking were at their height; so she 

was seated in her chair, with Moira perched 

on one arm of it, before Michael noticed her. 

(You may know just how Mother looked that 

afternoon, for you can see her in the lovely 

picture at the very beginning of this book.) 

"Oh, pardon me, Motheranna!" said 

Michael. "I did not know you were here." 

And as David ran over to claim a little stool 

near Mother's chair, Michael bent down and 

MI "mot L he C r 1 L nna" ER took something from behind his desk. Then, 

shaking back the mop of glossy black hair which had fallen over 

his forehead, he rose slowly. 

The handsome, smiling boy was on two crutches. 
Without a word, James placed a chair for Michael, quite 
close to Mother. Then, as he turned to get the big book from 
Michael's desk, Moira pressed her hands over Mother's eyes, 
saying: 

"Don't look, Mother! This is the surprise. Don't look!" 
So, laughing and chatting, they arranged themselves in a little 
group. And Mother really kept her eyes shut, until David 
jumped up and said in his explosive way: 

"Look! Here is the country where JESUS lived, and we 
know all about it; we learned it all from Michael." 

"O Motheranna," said Michael, "that isn't the way we told 
David to begin. Indeed, they didn't learn so much from me. I 
learned a good deal from them, even from David; because you 
and Uncle James taught them. We've just been trying to put 
together all we know about OUR Lord's Own COUNTRY; and it 
was very interesting, especially after Uncle James bought us 
this splendid big book of maps and pictures." 

"Michael, Michael," said Mother, laying her hand on the 
boy's shoulder, "now I know how you managed to have these 



three quiet and happy down here during the whole week that 
the doctor kept me upstairs. They did not miss me at all." 

"Didn't miss you?" said James, with the force that he knew 
how to put into a few words. 

And Moira, giving Mother a good hug, added, "Don't you 
try it again, or . . . ." 

"Mother!" broke in David, "if they keep on talking Til 
forget everything Michael taught me to say." 
"Let it out, laddie," said James. 

And he did let it out, scarcely taking a breath between 
sentences, while his whole active little body helped in the talking, 
especially his two chubby hands, which kept busy over the big 
open map. 

"This is PALESTINE! It's not a big country, but it's the 
most important country in the whole world. The most impor- 
tant things that ever happened since God made the world, hap- 
pened right here." (The map is at the front of this book.) 

"Palestine, you know, doesn't really look like it does here on 
the paper. This is only a map, like the map Michael helped 
Dan make of our vegetable garden 
and all our property from one end to 
another. 

"Palestine is nearly all hills and 
mountains crowded close together; 
and towns, little and big, wherever 
there's a nice place along the roads 
or up high on the hillsides. Michael 
showed me how it was when we took 
a long auto trip with Father. But 
they didn't have any automobiles or 
any railroads in those days. Every- 
body had to walk from one end of 
Palestine to the other; or else they 
rode on camels or on donkeys. I'd 
rather ride a camel. But Michael says 




[ WOULD RATH 




LITTLE JESUS I 



camels could not go over 
the hills and mountains 
very well. So I think I'd 
ride a donkey, the way 
Jesus did sometimes when 
He was a little boy and 
went visiting with His 
parents. My donkey would 
take a road right through 
the middle of the coun- 
try." David's two hands 
made a track from top to 
bottom of the big map. 

"There!" he said, as if 
he had finished all he 
intended to say. But then 
Moira gave a hint in a 
quick whisper: "You forgot to tell why Palestine is so im- 
portant." 

"Pshaw!" said David, "I did forget." Then he gave that 
little laugh of his, "Ho! I didn't have to tell it; that's a thing 
everybody knows. Palestine is important because it is Our 
Lord's Own Country. It's His country just the way America is 
my country. Our Lord was born there, the way I was born in 
this house. (Only He wasn't born in a house; He was born in 
a stable.) And He lived nearly His whole life in Palestine, 
'cept a few years when He was way off there in Egypt. 

"And Our Lord walked here through the hills and moun- 
tains of Palestine, the way I walk through the hills of Maple- 
wood." 

"Palestine," David ran on, after drawing a deep breath, "is 
much bigger than Maplewood; bigger than everything we can 
see from the very highest hill. But Palestine is just a wee 
speck compared with our United States. Let James tell you, 
Mother. But Palestine is important/' the little fellow added, 




"WHEN JESUS WAS A LITTLE BOY LIKE ME." 



glad to have another chance to repeat the big word. "There 
is no other country on this whole earth where God lived when 
He was a little boy like me, and a big boy like James and 
Michael, and a man like Father." 

That seemed to be the real ending of the speech David had 
prepared for this occasion. He threw his arms around Mother 
and said: 

"Now aren't you s'prised how much I know, and didn't I 
say it good?" 

"Indeed, I am surprised," said Mother. "Why, you must 
have one of Father's biggest books inside your little body." And 
laughing, she began to feel him carefully, as though she meant 
to find where the big book was hidden away. 

David enjoyed this. "Feel James, 
Mother!" he cried. "He must have 
three big books inside of him; 'cyclo- 
pedias, Father calls them. The other 
day James and Michael were almost 
eating up a big 'cyclopedia. Lyda 
couldn't get them to come to lunch, and — " Then David clapped 
his hand over his mouth; he had almost tattled, and tattling is 
such a mean thing; he wouldn't do it for the world. 

"Well, James," said Mother, "what did you find in the 
'cyclopedia that was more interesting than Lyda's nice lunch?" 

"It wasn't an encyclopedia, Mother. It was a big book of 
maps. You know I love maps. And Michael and I were measur- 
ing just how big Palestine is, compared with some parts of our 
own country. I always had an idea that Our Lord's country 
was a big place, because so many great and wonderful things 
happened there. Michael and I had a real fight before he 
could prove to me that Palestine is a very little place. Didn't 
we, Michael?" 

"We did," said Michael. 

"Not a fist fight, I hope." And Mother took one of James's 
strong brown hands in hers. But Michael placed beside it his 




own hand, so thin and white and weak, while he said, with a 
little laugh that was half a sigh: 

"I'd have no chance at all, Motheranna; my wrestling, these 
days, has to be done with words." 

"And a great wrestler he is, Mother," said James. "He's 
just as great at it as he used to be in the gym. Why, he got the 
best of Father the other night in a fair, manly argument. And 
Father said Michael kept all the rules of the game." 

"Well, son, tell me how Michael got the best of you." 

"He proved to me by real measurements on the map that 
it would take seven Palestines to cover our own state of Ohio. 
And then we measured other states. Illinois is ten times as 
large as Palestine. The monster state of Texas would hold 
forty-seven Palestines; California would hold about half that 
many, and have plenty of room to spare." 

"And what about Massachusetts, Michael?" Mother asked. 

"My wonderful little state of Massachusetts," said the boy, 
"could take in Our Lord's dear country and have a borderland 
left all round to protect it. Massachusetts is about once and a 
half as large as Palestine." 

"Mother," said James, "Palestine from top to bottom is only 
140 miles long. (That would be an afternoon ride in our auto 
on a good road, if there were any good roads.) And straight 
across the country, that is, from the Mediterranean Sea on the 
left, to the Jordan River or the Dead Sea on the right, we 
could not find a place where Palestine is more than 60 miles 
wide. Up north, in the narrowest part, it measures only 20 
miles." 

"Show Mother how you measured it, Michael," said Moira. 
And Michael drew from his pocket a smooth strip of paper 
which had a row of dots carefully marked along the edge. 

"Every dot is a mile," said Michael. "We made this scale 
to suit this particular map." 

"You did," said James, who would never take credit for 
what he did not do himself. 



Long before this time, David, feeling that he had finished 
his share of the entertainment, had slipped away from the group, 
and he was now sitting straddle-legs on the broad back of Towzer. 
The dog had taken his position at a respectful distance from 
Mother's chair, on his own particular rug, and there he lay 
dozing, with his shaggy head resting on his thick white paws. 
Michael drew closer to Mother's side, and as he began to 
use his measuring strip, four heads bent over the map, so in- 
terested that they noticed nothing else. 

Four heads, did I say? Well, after a little while there were 
five heads. Some one came into the room very, very softly. 
No one saw him but David; and he gave David a sly sign not to 
tell. I think Towzer saw him, too, for he wagged his tail 
just a little, though he pretended to keep on dozing; wise dog 
that he is. 

No, the visitor was not Father. It was somebody else, much 
older than Father, and this somebody was greatly interested in 
what James was saying, as he and Michael moved the strip of 
paper over the map of Palestine, to measure length and width, 
and distances between cities and 
towns. 

Moira helped, too, though she 
did not know so much about it as 
the boys did. 

They began, of course, by point- 
ing.out Bethlehem, in Judea, where 
Jesus was born; and Jerusalem, 
just six miles farther north, where 
the beautiful Temple stood, and 
where the Baby Jesus was carried 
by His parents when He was only 
forty days old. They picked out 
the road which they thought the 
Holy Family must have taken when 
they fled into Egypt because wicked 




King Herod wanted to kill Jesus. Next they showed how St. 
Joseph brought Jesus and Mary safely back again to Palestine, 
all along the beautiful shore of the Mediterranean Sea up to the 
mountains of Galilee. And there the Holy Family hid away 
peacefully in the little village of Nazareth among the Galilean 
hills. 




James, who is just twelve years old, you know, traced the 
journey that Jesus made when He was a boy of twelve — His 
first camping trip from Nazareth to Jerusalem and back again. 
There is a fine story about that camping trip; but James did 
not stop to tell it, though every real boy loves it, and loves the 
Lord Jesus more every time he hears it. 

Moira told what a happy, quiet life Jesus lived at Nazareth, 
and how, after good St. Joseph died, Jesus, who had learned 
the trade from His foster-father, became the village carpenter. 
He made tables, and benches, and strong wooden chests, and 






tit. 





VOLKEL 

JESUS WITH MARY, HIS VIRGIN-MOTHER, AND ST. JOSEPH, HIS I-OSTER-FATHER 
"I believe in Cod, the Father Almighty, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord." 



cupboards; and dainty things, too, sometimes, to give pleasure 
to His Blessed Mother on her birthday. 

And He made heavy wooden ploughs and big clumsy cart 
wheels for the people of the village and the country round about 
Nazareth. The Lord Jesus, the Son of God, carried on His 
shoulders these things he had made in His carpenter shop, and 
took them to the homes of His customers. When Moira told 
about it, you could almost see Jesus hold out His hand for the 
little pay that the people gave Him, and then bow humbly as 
He thanked them for it. 

"Sometimes" (thus Moira continued), "when an old cross- 
patch customer wasn't suited with a table or a plough, the Lord 
Jesus only smiled kindly; and He took it meekly on His back 
again, and went home without His pay. And His Blessed 
Mother, watching for her Jesus at the door, felt sorry because 
He was so tired under the heavy burden." 

"But it wasn't anything like so heavy as the Cross that 
He would have to carry later." It was Michael who whis- 
pered this to Mother; but the visitor behind Mother's chair 
heard it. 

No one was looking at the visitor. If they had been looking, 
they would have seen that tears were in the kind blue eyes of 
that white-haired gentleman, all the while the children were 
talking in their innocent way about the Lord Jesus. That last 
remark of Michael's was too much for him. He drew out his 
large handkerchief and was about to use it vigorously (as men 
do when they want to pretend that there are no tears in their 
eyes). But he remembered just in time, and he quietly put the 
handkerchief away again, giving another sly sign to David to 
keep still. 

You would think that Moira, lively little creature that she is, 
should have spied him long ago. But she had her head pressed 
against Mother's, and her arm thrown over Mother's shoulder; 
and that is why she kept so unusually quiet. Michael was 
always quiet, and always intent upon whatever he happened to 



be doing. But it is a wonder that James did not see who was 
there; in fact, I almost suspect that he did; but it would be just 
like James to keep still and wait, to see how things would turn 
out. Now, the boy bent his head lower over the map, while he 
followed with his finger the line of the Jordan River. 

"There, I have it!" he said; "Bethania or Bethabara, on the 
right bank of the Jordan. That is where St. John, the cousin 
of Lord Jesus, was preaching and baptizing. The river was 
low there, and crowds of people came to that spot to cross 
over. St. John had chosen a good place to meet travelers; and 
he soon had the whole of Palestine talking about the wonderful 
things that he preached to them." 

"What wonderful things, son?" Mother asked. 
"I don't remember the words, Mother, but they amounted 
to this: The Messiah, whom the prophets had foretold, was 
soon to appear among the Jews and set up His Kingdom. If 
they wanted to be ready for Him, they must be cleansed from 
their sins and must do penance." 

"And one day," Moira said, 
"while St. John was baptizing 
the people in the Jordan River, 
the Lord Jesus came, right in 
the midst of the crowd of sin- 
ners. He asked St. John to 
baptize Him. But St. John 
drew back and said: 'No, I 
ought to be baptized by You/ 
Then Jesus explained that it 
was the will of God, and St. 
John did actually baptize Jesus, 
as if He were a sinner like the 
other men. But when Jesus 
came out of the water, the heav- 
ens were opened, and the Holy 
Ghost, in the shape of a dove, 




ON THE BANK 



came down upon Him, and a voice from heaven was heard 
saying: 

Thou art My beloved Son; 

In Thee I am well pleased. 

"Mother, do you think everybody heard the Voice?" James 
asked the question. 

"The words were addressed to Jesus," said Mother. "St. 
John heard them, no doubt, and so did others, if they were 
worthy to understand the words of God. Do you know where 
Jesus went after He had this wonderful consolation from His 
Heavenly Father?" 

"The Holy Spirit led Him immediately into the wilderness, 
to be alone with wild beasts, lions and leopards and jackals. This 
wilderness begins not far from Jericho, and stretches along the 
barren, rocky shore of the Dead Sea." 

It was James who pointed this out; and he added, "Jesus 
fasted there forty days, without eating anything at all." 

"And that's where the devil came to tempt the Lord Jesus," 
said Moira. 

David jumped up. "Where? Where did the devil come? 
Show mel" he cried. 

Then the four heads over the map looked up, of course. And 
then, of course, the silent visitor was discovered. 

"O Father Tim!" "How long have you been here?" "How 
could you keep so quiet, Father Tim?" A whole shower of 
questions! But the kind old priest did not answer any of them. 
He turned to David, and, shaking his big walking stick at him, 
said: 

"You little rascal! What shall I do to you for giving me 
away? Why, even Buddy and Lyda kept quiet!" 

"Ho!" laughed David, not a bit afraid of the dear old Father, 
"Buddy's sound asleep and so is Lyda; or they were till this 
minute when everybody waked them up." 

"Come here!" said Father Tim, with a kind smile and a 
gruff voice, "I'll take care of you." And seating himself on the 



roomy leather sofa, which was his favorite place, the pastor 
tucked David into a snug corner beside him. The little fellow 
threw his arm affectionately over the broad strong shoulder of 
the good shepherd, and laughed again. 

"Ho! Nobody could 
be afraid of you, Father 
Tim." 

"Now," said Father 
Tim, motioning the rest 
of them to be seated, 
"we'll go on with that 
lesson." 

"O Father Tim!" said 
Moira, "it wasn't a les- 
son; it was an entertain- 
ment — an entertainment 
that Michael helped us 
plan out while Mother 
was sick." 

"Right you are, my 
little Moira, and such a 
fine entertainment that I 
would not miss the end 
of.it for anything. Here, James, rest that big book on these 
broad knees of mine. Davy will help me hold it." 

While they were getting settled, Father Tim had a few 
hearty words for each one. Lyda's black face was all smiles 
when she brought Baby into the group and put him in Mother's 
lap. 

"Now go and tell Susan," said Mother, "that Father Timothy 
Nolen is here." 

"Ho!" laughed Father Tim. (It was like David's own little 
laugh, only grown up.) "Susan let me in through the kitchen 
door and up the back stairs." 

"So that is how — " Mother began to say. But David, who 
had been sniffing the air with his little tip-tilted nose, announced 
in a glad, distinct whisper: "There'll be hot muffins, Father 
Tim!" 




' ME HOLD THIS BIG BOOK. 



CHAPTER III 



FATHER TIMOTHY HAS AN IDEA 

IOOK here, Moira, you have not answered that question 
i little David put to you." 

"What question, Father?" 
"Why, before all this hubbub began, David asked you, 'Where 
is the devil?' And he wanted you to show the black creature 
to him." 

"Don't you remember, Moira," said Michael, "we were 
pointing out the place in the Jordan River, not far from Jericho, 
where Jesus was baptized by St. John; and then we showed the 
rocky wilderness, near the Dead Sea, where Jesus went, after 
His baptism, to spend forty days in prayer and fasting." 

"Oh, yes !" said Moira, at the first words ; and she began turn- 
ing over the pages of the big book, while Michael continued 
to speak. And the pastor, well pleased, asked the boy: 

"Why did Our Lord spend forty days in prayer and fasting, 
my son?" Father Timothy always spoke to Michael in a man- 
ner more gentle than he had for anyone else. 

"Father, Our dear 
Lord wanted to pre- 
pare for His public 
life; that is, for the 
'.'i great work of teach- 
ing His whole nation, 
and, in fact, the whole 
world. He knew that 
what He taught dur- 
ing those last years of 
His life on this earth 
would be carried by 




"to teach the whole \ 




BE GONE, SATAN: FOR IT IS WRITTEN, THE LORD THY GOD SHALT 

THOU ADORE, AND HIM ONLY SHALT THOU SERVE. 

—St. Matthew iv. 10. 



His disciples to every nation, and would come down through 
centuries, even to us, right here." 

"That is one reason, my boy. Do you know another?" 
Father Timothy looked at Michael with kind, searching eyes. 

"Our Lord wanted to teach us how to bear temptations and 
to conquer Satan, His enemy," said Michael promptly, squaring 
his shoulders, as a brave boy scout well knows how to do. 

"Here is the black fellow!" cried David, for Moira had 
found the picture that he wanted to see. "I'm not afraid of 
him, Father. If he ever comes near me, I can make the black 
coward run. I'll have to say only one word." 
"Say it, Davy," whispered Mother. 

David folded his hands, bowed his head, and said distinctly, 
"JESUS!" Then looking up, he gave his own little laugh, 
"Ho! if the black fellow was anywhere round here just then, 
he flew! He's afraid of the Holy Name, and he hates it." 

"The dear, beautiful Lord Jesus!" said Moira, looking at 
the picture. "It was a horrid, bold thing for the ugly devil 
to come so close to Him." 

"But it gave the Lord Jesus a chance to win a great victory," 
said James. "Satan had to slink away like a whipped dog." 
"Tell about it, James," urged David. 

"Father," said James, turning toward their honored guest, 
"that wasn't in our plan for this afternoon." 

"But the little lad wants it, James," 
said Father Tim, "and you know I 
always want what Davy wants." 

"There, now!" said David. "Just 
the last part, James, where the devil 
took Jesus on the high mountain, like 
the picture shows it." 

"Here is the mountain," said James, 
pointing to the map. "It is called 
Quarantania, in remembrance of the 
forty days Our Lord spent there. It 




WANT WHATEVER DAVY WANTS." 



is in the wilderness of Judea, and it rises 2,350 feet above the 
Dead Sea. There is a cave high up on the side of the mountain, 
and that is where Jesus found shelter. 

"From the very top of Mt. Quarantania a man could have a 
good view of the country of Palestine, and could see the roads 
that led to the different kingdoms of the world." 

"Now!" said Davy; he knew what was coming. 

Mother said, "Tell it in the words of Holy Scripture, James, 
as nearly as you can." 

James stood up; he had been taught to show great reverence 
for the words of Holy Scripture. "I shall begin with the 
third temptation, Father," he said. 

Again the devil took Him up into a very high mountain, 
and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment 
of time. And he said to Him: To Thee will I give all these, 
all this power and the glory of them, if, falling down, Thou wilt 
adore me: for to me they are delivered; and to whom I will, I 
give them. If Thou, therefore, wilt adore before me, all shall 
be Thine. 

Then Jesus, answering, said to him: Be gone, Satan; it is 
written: Thou shalt adore the Lord thy God, and Him alone 
shalt thou serve. 

And when all the temptation was ended, the devil departed 
from Him for a time; and behold, angels came and ministered 
to Him. 

David's face was full of interest while James was speaking, 
especially when he said, "Be gone, Satan!" Now the little 
fellow clapped his hands and shouted, "Hurrah! 
That's the way I'll send the devil about his business 
if he comes near me; won't I, Father?" 

"God grant it, my little lamb," said the good 
pastor; and his strong arm closed round the child. 

"I am glad the angels came," said Moira. "I'm 
sure they brought the dear Lord Jesus something 
to eat after His long fasting." 





"Well, He needed it!" said James. And, boy that he was, 
he looked up at the clock. 

"Can you tell us, Michael, what happened after Jesus left 
the desert?" asked Father Tim, pressing a 
hand on the boy's shoulder, to let him know 
that he must not stand, as James did. 

"Yes, Father. Jesus went again to meet 
St. John, who had been baptizing all this 
while, and preaching to crowds that became 
greater every day. Some of the people thought 
that John was the prophet Elias come back 
to earth again; and some even thought that 
he might be the promised Messiah. John was 
at this time farther up the river, where the men of Galilee came 
to a convenient ford or crossing place. I can tell the story, 
Father, though I leave, out a few verses. The account is about 
like this: 

And the next day John saw Jesus coming to him, and he 
saith : Behold the Lamb of God ; behold Him who taketh away 
the sin of the world. This is He of whom I said: after me 
cometh a man, who is preferred before me, because He was 
before me. 

And John gave testimony, saying: I saw the Spirit come 
down as a dove from heaven, and He remained upon Him. 
And I knew Him not. But He who sent me to baptize in water, 
said to me : He upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descend- 
ing, and remaining on Him, He it is that baptizeth with the 
Holy Ghost. 

And I saw; and I gave testimony that this is the Son of God. 

Father Tim bowed his head at these solemn words. So did 
David. So did they all. Then looking full at the handsome 
crippled lad (as if, with priestly eyes, he read God's secret in 
the boy's soul), Father Tim gave a sign to continue the gospel 
story, almost as he would give a sign to the deacon at Mass. 
And Michael spoke: 



Again the following day, John stood, and two of his dis- 
ciples. And looking upon Jesus as He was walking, he saith: 
Behold the Lamb of God. And the two disciples heard him 
speak, and they followed Jesus. 

And Jesus turning, and seeing them following Him, saith 
to them: What seek you? 

They said to Him: Rabbi, which is to say, being interpreted, 
Master, where dwellest Thou? He said to them: Come and 
see. 

They came and saw where He abode; and they stayed with 
Him that day: now it was about the tenth hour. 

"That means," said Michael, looking at James with a know- 
ing smile, "four o'clock in the afternoon; just about this time." 
The bronze clock on the mantel-shelf in the sun-parlor showed 
a quarter to four. James put his hand somewhere near his 
heart; any boy can guess what that meant. 

"Yes," said Mother quickly, "and it was an afternoon in 
early spring; a bright, sunny afternoon just like this. James, 
you can tell who were those first two disciples who followed the 
Lord Jesus; can you not?" 

"Yes, Mother," said James. This was something he liked. 
"And shall I tell of the others who joined them?" 

Father Tim sat up straight. 

"You're s'prised, aren't you?" said David. "You're s'prised 
how much we know — James and all of us. We thought Mother 
was going to be s'prised; but it's you, Father Tim." 

"Surprised I am, and — well, I've got an idea in this old 
gray head of mine." 

"Tell it, Father Tim!" they all cried out, "tell it!" 

"Ideas ought to be kept under cover for a while," said 
Father Tim. 

"O Father!" Moira coaxed, "we want to hear it now." 

"And I want to hear the rest of this entertainment, my little 
lady." 

"After a while, Moira dear," whispered Mother, who knew 
Father Tim's way. 







IN GALILEE, ON THE SHORE OF LAKE GENESARETH 
And He findeth Philip; and Jesus saith to him: Follow Me.— St. John i. 



"Go on, James, go on!" said Father Tim, trying to make his 
voice gruff. "Do as your Mother bid you; tell who those first 
disciples were." 

James stood, as he did before, saying as he rose: "It was 
St. John who wrote the story for us, and he was one of those 
two, though he does not mention his own name. He was a 
different St. John from the Baptist, and a good deal younger; 
and he was a cousin of Our Lord, too. He tells the story this way: 

Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, was one of the two 
who had heard the words of John and followed Him (the 
Lord Jesus). He (Andrew) first findeth his brother Simon, 
and saith to him : We have found the Messiah, which is, being 
interpreted, the Christ. And he brought him to Jesus. 

And Jesus looking upon him said: Thou art Simon, the 
son of Jona : Thou shalt be called Cephas : which is interpreted 
Peter. (In the old law, God changed Abram's name, too.) 

On the following day He (Jesus) would go forth into 
Galilee; and He findeth Philip. And Jesus said to him: Fol- 
low Me. Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew 
and Peter. (Bethsaida is just next to Capharnaum. ) 

Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith to him: We have found 
Him of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, 
Jesus, the son of Joseph of Nazareth. 

And Nathanael said to him : Can anything good come from 
Nazareth? Philip saith to him: Come and see. 

Jesus saw Nathanael coming to Him, and He saith of him: 
Behold an Israelite, indeed, in whom there is no guile (which 
means no deceitfulness or lying) . 

Nathanael said to Him : Whence knowest Thou me ? Jesus 
answered him and said to him : Before Philip called thee, when 
thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee. ( Mother says Nathanael 
had been praying under the fig-tree, that the Messiah might 
come soon and deliver His people.) 

Nathanael answered Him and said: Rabbi, Thou art the 
Son of God ; Thou art the King of Israel. 

Jesus answered and said to him: Because I said unto thee, 
I saw thee under the fig-tree, thou believest. Greater things 
than these shalt thou see. 



As soon as James had finished speaking, Moira said: "I 
know one of the great things that Nathanael would see very 
soon: a miracle, Our Lord's first miracle. And He did it for 
His dear Mother's sake." 

"Wait a minute, Moira," said James, "I want to show some- 
thing." 

"Oh, yes, the map," said Moira. "I forgot." 
"James is great on maps, Father Tim," said David proudly, 
and his pudgy little hand tried to help big brother turn over 
the wide pages. The book still rested on Father Tim's knee. 

"Here it is!" said James. "See, these maps show the way 
Jesus traveled from the time He left Nazareth to go south and 
be baptized by St. John, at Bethania; and after that, all the 
journeys He made through Palestine during the years of His 
public life. Father studied out the routes and marked them 
for us, so we can follow Our Lord easily from place to place." 
With bright eyes and eager fingers the children helped James 
as he traced the red lines and the tiny arrows, which pointed 
out the way. It was more interesting than any game ; and it was 

really worth while, because they were following the 
very footsteps of the dear Lord Jesus. They were 

busy only with that first journey about which 

they had spoken; and when they found Beth- 

saida and Capharnaum, on the shore of 

Lake Galilee, the cities where the 

new disciples of Our Lord had 

their homes, Moira said: 
"At last, we can go with 

the Lord Jesus and his dis- 
ciples to the city of Cana 

in Galilee, where they were 

invited to a wedding. The 

five disciples were" (and 

Moira counted them off on 

her fingers), u J onn > and his 




friend Andrew, and Simon who was Andrew's brother (Jesus 
changed his name to Peter, you know). Then Philip, whom 
Jesus found up in Galilee, and Nathanael, whom Philip ran 
and called, because He wanted his friend to know Jesus, too." 

"And," said Mother, in her quiet way, "I am pretty sure 
John ran and called his brother James; because they were so 
fond of each other." 

"I am sure he did," Father Tim agreed. And then, looking 
kindly at Mother, he added, "I remember a certain little girl 
who said that very same thing in my Sunday school class a good 
many years ago." 

"Mother was the little girl," Moira added promptly. 

"Now tell about the wedding, Moira dear," said Mother. 
And Moira, standing where all could see her, told the story 
very prettily. 

<Ef)e Webbing Jfeasrt in Cana 

The third day (which means the third day after Jesus met 
John and Andrew) there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee: 
and the mother of Jesus was there. And Jesus also was in- 
vited, and His disciples, to the marriage. 

And the wine failing, the mother of Jesus saith to Him: 
They have no wine. And Jesus saith to her: Woman (which 
means my lady, in the language that Jesus spoke) what is that 
to Me and to thee? (I think He did not wish His mother to 
worry about it.) My hour is not yet come. (Jesus meant His 
hour for working miracles. But Our Lady knew that her dear 
Son could not refuse her anything; and so she prepared the 
way for Him.) 

His mother saith to the waiters: Whatsoever He shall say 
to you, do ye. Now there were set there six water-pots of 
stone, according to the manner of the purifying of the Jews, con- 
taining two or three measures apiece. (Father says that was 
more than a hundred gallons in all, for they were great big 
water- jars. ) 

Jesus saith to them: Fill the water-pots with water. And 
they filled them up to the brim. 




And Jesus saith to them : Draw out now, and carry to the 
chief steward of the feast. And they carried it. 

And when the chief steward had tasted the water made 
wine, and knew not whence it was, but the waiters knew who 
had drawn the water, the chief steward calleth the bridegroom, 
and saith to him: Every man at first setteth forth good wine, 
but when men have well drank, then that which is worse. 
But thou hast kept the good wine until now. (How astonished 
they all must have been, when they heard about the miracle, 
and how happy our dear Blessed Lady must have felt!) 

This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, 
and He manifested His glory; and His disciples believed in Him. 



"Father Tim," said Moira, "I'm asking our Blessed Lady 
to get a certain favor, and to get it before the time." 

"What favor is that?" 

"I'll whisper it in your ear." Moira's whispers were not 
like David's; so nobody but Father Tim heard. But I know 
what she whispered; it was this: 

"The favor I am asking is something you said couldn't be till 
Davy is six years old. That's nearly a year off, and I want it 



Father Tim placed his hand on the little girl's head. "Se- 
me favor isn't for yourself," he said aloud. 

"Oh, it would be lovely for all of us," said Moira, "and for 
the Lord Jesus, too. Don't you think so, Father Tim?" 

"We'll see about it," said Father Tim, "we'll see." But I 
really believe that down in Father Tim's heart, the favor was 
granted right then and there. And if there are any little First 
Communicants among you children, I think they know what 
the favor was. 

"Moira," James reminded her, "you didn't finish your part 
of the Bible story." 

"I know," said Moira, "I had to tell about Capharnaum, 
the city on the shore of Lake Galilee; and the name means 
'lovely place.' I'm glad it was a pretty place, because Our 
Lord took His dear Mother there to find a new home for her 
with her relations. He couldn't leave her at Nazareth alone, 
when He went away with His disciples to preach all through 
Palestine. Besides, the people at Nazareth were beginning to 
get jealous and mean; they didn't see how their own poor village 
carpenter could be the promised Messiah." 

"Our Lord and His disciples remained in Capharnaum only 
a few days," said Michael. "They had to go to Jerusalem, 
because it was time for the feast of the Pasch. That was the 
real ending of Our Lord's home life with His Mother; and that 
was His first journey to Jerusalem with His disciples. But 
He had been going to Jerusalem three or four times every year 
for the great feasts, ever since He made the great camping trip 
when He was a boy twelve years old." 

"Now, Father Tim, and now, Mother," said Moira, with a 
pretty bow, "that is the very end of the entertainment we planned 
for this afternoon." 

"And please," said Michael quickly, "may we hear that idea 
Father Tim has been keeping under cover all this while?" 

"Why, it's your plan, Michael, that gave me the idea; your 
plan and the way these children have carried it out. I have 




CHRIST TAKING LEAVE OF HIS MOTHER 
And the pasch of the Jews was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem- 



B. PLOCKlIoKST 



always wanted to get children to learn Our Lord's Own Stories, 
in His own words, but . . . ." 

"O Father!" said Moira, so delighted that she actually in- 
terrupted Father Tim, "that would be lovely! All the miracles, 
like the Wedding at Cana!" 

"Well, not exactly the miracles, Moira," said Father Tim. 
"Those stories tell what the Lord Jesus did. But I was thinking 
of the PARABLES, the very same stories that Our Lord told 
the people Himself, when He went about Palestine teaching 
and doing good." 

"I think that is a fine idea. Father Tim," said Michael. 

"So do I," said James. 

"So do I," echoed David, just because the big boys said so. 

"So do I, Father Tim," said Moira. "And we could take the 
Miracle Stories afterwards, couldn't we? 11 

"What's all this about?" said a big voice at the door. 

"O Father! How did you get home so 
early?" And the children were round him in 
a moment. 

"We will defer all replies and all business 
for the present," said Father, pretending to be 
stern. "You ought to hear Susan wailing down- 
stairs, 'Father Timothy Nolen's hot muffins'll 
be sp'iled complete.' She says you told Lyda ■ 
vou would come to the 'company tea' at four' 
o'clock." 

"So I did," said Mother, "and Fm sure that is why Lyda 
did not ring the bell." 

"And now it's ten after four," said James, dolefully. 

"They're all right, son," said Father. "I sampled one on my 
way up. Fm as hungry as a bear; or," he added, turning to 
Mother, "as James Junior here. Now, up you go, Davy!" He 
jumped the little fellow to his broad shoulders. Ready, Father 
Tim, come along," and linking his arm in the arm of the good 
gray-haired pastor, Captain Devera started for the dining-room. 





As they passed the clock near the dining- 
room door (where it had stood since Father's 
father was a little boy), it gave a deep, whir- 
ring sound, like the jolly laugh of an old, old 
grandfather, who has been holding in for a 
while something he wants very much to say. 
And then, what the old clock said was this : 

"One — two — three — four !" 

Perhaps that meant just how many nice hot 
muffins a boy like James Junior ought to eat at 
"company tea," when Susan had prepared a lot 
of other good things in honor of Father 
Timothy Nolen. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE SOWER SOWETH HIS SEED 

IT WAS a bright afternoon in May. The sun's rays were 
so hot that one would think they were summer rays, escaped 
from the big sun long before the right time of the year. 
But our little Miss Moira was as cool as a pretty white violet; 
a lovely fresh violet, such as one might find in a moss-grown 
dell. 

No, she was not out in the woods. Moira and a book were 
cozily curled up in one of the great hall chairs, with moss-green 
cushions filling the oaken hollows. 

The carpet under the old armchair was like soft, thick moss. 
The same rich covering made a terraced hillside of the broad 
stairs; and on the roomy landing, where the stairs divided, stood 
a group of palms. They screened a stained glass window that 
was like a glimpse of heaven. Through the palms (from his 
place in the window) the guardian angel of the household, like 
another St. Michael, strong and pure, looked down upon our 
little girl. 

The walls of this cool retreat were like rustic trellises with 
carefully trained vines that clambered up and up from the mossy 
floor, and then trailed downward again laden with drooping 
clusters of pink and white and purple blooms. 

Moira (who dearly loves all things beautiful) would tell you 
that this wide front hall was the very nicest place in the whole 
house. It certainly was a comfortable place for a little girl and 
a book on a warm spring day; and Moira felt, somehow, that 
her fresh white dress with its dainty ribbons, and her soft, green 
velvet house-slippers, just suited the mossy hollows of the great 
oak chair. 




"] CAN RECITE MY PARABLE HERE." SAID MOIRA. 



Moira was thinking; not of herself, not of the book that lay 
open beside her on the cushions. No, her mind was busy with 
a large picture among the vines on the opposite wall. 

You have seen the picture often, though not, perhaps, in 
beautiful colors, as Moira saw it. Her Grandpa Devera had 
painted it there himself. This is the picture: a wide blue lake 
seems to stretch far into the distance; near the shore of the lake 
is a boat; and in the boat stands the Lord Jesus, speaking to a 
crowd of people gathered there under the trees, to see and hear 
Him. 

"How I wish I could have heard You, dear Lord Jesus!" 
Moira said, half aloud. "I want to tell the story just as You 
told it." 

Then, looking out toward the distant hillside to which Our 
Lord's raised arm is pointing, she added, "I am sure You saw 
the farmer way off there sowing his seed, when You spoke that 
parable." And Moira repeated slowly, 

& g>otoer Went Jfortfj to g>oto i>te g>eeb 

A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She leaped lightly 
from the big chair; sprang up the wide green stairs; glanced 
around to see whether all the doors leading from the upper 
halls were closed; and then, coming down again, she took her 
stand on the third step from the bottom. 

"This is a fine idea," she exclaimed. "I can recite it here 
perfectly." And raising her arm as Our Lord does in the pic- 
ture, she repeated the parable as she had learned it from the 
book Mother gave her. 

Hear ye: Behold, 

A sower went forth to sow his seed, 

And as he sowed, some fell by the wayside, and the birds of 

the air came and ate it up. 
And other some fell upon stony ground where it had not much 

earth; and when the sun was risen, it was scorched; and 

because it had no root, it withered away. 




£2 « 



And some fell among thorns; and the thorns grew up and 

choked it; and it yielded no fruit. 
And some fell upon good ground; and it brought forth fruit 

that grew up, and increased, and yielded, 
One thirty, 
Another sixty, 
And another a hundredfold. 

Moira paused a moment. Then leaping lightly to the floor, 
she picked up the book she had been studying. You see, she 
had forgotten what came next. In an instant she was on her 
third step again, and, with a loving glance toward Our Lord 
in the picture, she continued: 

Saying these things, He cried out: 

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. 

And His disciples asked Him what this parable might be. 

And He said to them: Know ye not this parable? 

How then shall you know all parables? 

Hear ye therefore the parable of the sower. 

He that soweth, soweth the word. 

The seed is the word of God. 

And they by the wayside are they that hear the word of the 

kingdom ; 
And as soon as they have heard, immediately Satan cometh, 

and taketh away the word that was sown in their hearts 

lest, believing, they should be saved. 
Now they upon the stony ground are they who, when they 

hear, receive the word with joy; 
But these have no roots; they believe for a while, and in time 

of temptation, they fall away. 
And that which fell among thorns, are they who have heard, 

and going their way, are choked with the cares and riches 

and pleasures of this life, and yield no fruit. 
But that on the good ground, are they who in a good and per- 
fect heart, hearing the word, keep it, 
And bring forth fruit in patience, 
The one thirty, another sixty, and another a hundredfold. 

All the while Moira was speaking, her pet canary, whose 
cage hung between the palm branches, kept up a sweet, low 

45 



warbling; and when the little girl finished the last line in high, 
glad tones, he burst into song. 

"Now, now, Billy-Bird, you're pleased; aren't you? But don't 
sing so loud, dearie, or you'll wake Mother and Baby, even 
through the closed doors." 

Then Moira turned again to the beautiful picture of Our 
Lord in the boat, and said softly, "I hope You are pleased, too, 
dear Lord Jesus. I love Your story, and I understand every 
word of it. Mother explained it to me; and I'll not let the old 
sly devil steal any of Your good seed, when You sow it in my 
heart. I promised Mother that my heart would be the good 







ground where the Word of God would bring forth fruit a 
hundredfold. Mother says, that 'bringing forth fruit' means 
first of all for a little girl to be obedient, and not to lose her 
temper, and to do kind deeds for others." 
Just then something startled Moira. 

"Whir-r-r-r-r-r!" It was the telephone bell. a Whir-r-r-r-r!" 
With one spring Moira was on the floor; light as a fairy, 
she flew to the end of the hall and caught the receiver before 
the 'phone had another chance to say, "Whir-r-r-r-r!" To stop 
that sound was precisely why she was spending an hour in the 
front hall, with all the doors shut. 



"Oh!" said Moira, when she had heard the voice in the 
'phone. "I'm so glad I happened to be here." 

"Yes, Father Tim, it's Moira." 

"Mother fell asleep upstairs with Baby, and I'm minding 
the 'phone so it won't wake her." 

"No, indeed; I've got all the doors shut tight." 

"I know my parable perfectly, Father Tim. I said it just 
now all through. That is, I had to take only one peep at the 
book." 

"Oh !" said Moira laughing, "you know I couldn't lift Grand- 
pa Devera's great big Bible. This is a lovely small copy-book 
Mother made for us; and she wrote in it just the parables we 
are to study. She did it beautifully, Father Tim, all in nice 
short lines, almost like poetry. It was just the easiest thing to 
memorize my parable." 

"Yes, Father Tim, Michael helped Mother. You know he 
does lessons with Mother while James and I are at school." 

"The boys are out doors now, under the trees, but they'll be 
in at half-past two, because Mother is coming down then to 
hear our parables." 

"You're coming! O Father Tim, that will be lovely! Mother 
said it would be too much to expect you to come again so soon. 
But you want to see how we got started; don't you, Father Tim? 

"There's Mother calling me now. I'll go tell her you're 
coming out. Thank you, Father Tim. Good-bye!" 




CHAPTER V 

THE LAKE-SHORE PARABLES 

VERY good, Moira! Very good, very good!" Father 
Tim, sitting in the great oak chair which Moira and her 
moss-green cushions had occupied earlier in the afternoon, 
listened with folded hands, while the little girl repeated for him 
her PARABLE OF THE SOWER. She did it beautifully, 
without taking even one peep at the book. 

Now, with hands still folded, Father Tim kept rubbing the 
palms together — a way of his when he was greatly pleased. 
And he exclaimed again, "Good! Good! Come here, Moira 
child." 

Laying his hand on the little girl's glossy dark hair, he said 
tenderly, "You have made your old Father Tim very happy. 
There is nothing sweeter than to hear the divine words of our 
Lord Jesus come from the lips of an innocent child. Remem- 
ber the words of God, Moira; keep them in your heart, and 
they will surely bear fruit a hundredfold, as you said in your 
beautiful parable." 

"Yes, Father Tim." The lovely light of her soul was in 
Moira's deep blue eyes as she raised them modestly to look into 
the kind, searching eyes of the priest. 

"Now, James," said Father Timothy briskly, "let me hear 
what you can do." He waved his arm to the step where Moira 
had recited her parable; and, without a word, James took 
his stand there and began. 

Clje Mjeat anb tfje Cockle 

Another parable He (the Lord Jesus) proposed to them, 

saying : 
The kingdom of heaven is likened to a man that sowed good 

seed in his field. But while men were asleep, his enemy 



came and over-sowed cockle (a troublesome weed) among 

the wheat, and went his way. 
And when the blade was sprung up and brought forth fruit, 

then appeared also the cockle. 
Then the servants of the master of the house came and said to 

him: Master, didst thou not sow good seed in thy field? 

From whence then hath it cockle? 
And he said to them: An enemy hath done this. 
And the servants said to him : Wilt thou that we go and gather 

it up? 
And he said: No; lest, while ye gather up the cockle, you 

root up the wheat also together with it. (Because the roots 

of the wheat and the cockle were twined together.) 
Let both grow until the harvest (the master said) and in the 

time of the harvest I will say to the reapers: Gather up 

first the cockle, and bind it into bundles to burn, but gather 

the wheat into my barn. 
And having sent away the multitude, He (the Lord Jesus) came 

into the house, and his disciples came to Him, saying: 
Explain to us the parable of the cockle of the field. 
He made answer and said to them: He that soweth the good 

seed is the Son of Man (Jesus himself). 
And the field is the world. And the good seed are the children 

of the kingdom (which means the Church). 
And the cockle are the children of the wicked one. And the 

enemy that sowed them is the devil. 
The harvest is the end of the world. And the reapers are the 

angels. Even as the cockle, therefore, is gathered up, and 

burnt with fire, so shall it be at the end of the world. 
The Son of Man (Jesus) shall send His angels, and they shall 

gather out of His kingdom all scandals, and them that work 

iniquity (which means sin). 
And shall cast them into the furnace of fire (into hell) and 

there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. 
Then shall the just (the good people) shine as the sun, in the 

kingdom of their Father. (And then Our Lord finished His 

parable by calling out:) 
He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. 

"Very good, James! Very good, very good!" said Father 
Tim, just as greatly pleased as he had been with Moira. James 



tried to slip into his place at the foot of the stairs, but Father 
Tim reached out and took the boy's brown, strong hand. 

"Tell me, James, what is meant by 'the children of the 
kingdom'?" 

"Father Tim, the children of the kingdom are the mem- 
bers of Christ's true Church, which is spread all over the 
world." 

"And what is meant by 'the Kingdom of God'?" 
"The Kingdom of God, on this earth, is the true Church, 
which will last till the end of the world. But God has a king- 
dom also in Heaven, and that kingdom will last forever." 

"Good!" Then turning to Mother 
who sat so quietly next to Michael, the 
priest said, "You have taught your 
children well, Anna." 

"Mother told us, too, Father Tim, 
that Our Lord has a kingdom in the 
heart of each one of us," said Moira, 
"and He sows His good seeds there 
every day." 

"He does, my dear children; and if 

you take great care of that field, the 

good seeds will spring up wonderfully. 

Remember that; and 'Good seeds 

make good deeds/ " 

"But, you know," Father Tim 
added with a wise shake of his 
gray head, "you've got to keep out the bad seeds. 'Bad seeds 
make bad deeds!' If you should happen to spy any weeds 
springing up, pull them out quickly. You can do that in your 
own hearts, children, though a pastor cannot pull the bad weeds 
out of the Church. There, as Our Lord said to the servants in 
the parable, the wheat and the cockle must be allowed to grow 
together until the harvest time, when God will send His angels 
to separate the good from the bad." 




"There, there! Why, I have given you quite a little Sun- 
day sermon, all for yourselves. I thought of these things when 
I came through your beautiful garden this afternoon. Old 
black Dan stopped me, to show me how wonderfully every- 
thing has grown since the last time I was here, only a month 
ago." 

"Father Tim," said David, "did you see my garden? I've 
got the biggest plants of all. Mother gave me squash seeds. 
I put them in the ground myself. And, oh, but they grew! 
Why, Dan said you could almost see them grow. Now, the 
vines on the ground are as long as this." And David ran from 
one side of the hall to the other. 

"I have a flower garden, Father Tim," said Moira. 

"I know it, Moira. I had some of your own lovely flowers 
on the altar this morning, at Holy Mass." 

"James and Michael have cornstalks, Father Tim," cried 
David; "and when the big ears of corn come out we are going 
to have a camp-fire, and roast corn. Michael says his boy scouts 
do that." 

"You are invited, Father Tim," said Michael. "It will take 
a good while yet before the 'roastin' ears' get ready for the 
picnic; but the corn is doing fine. We could not coax it up 
this early in Massachusetts." 

"We've got a potato patch, too," said James, "so there will 
be roast potatoes at Michael's picnic." And he pretended to 
pick up a hot potato and toss it quickly from hand to hand, 
squirming the while as if it burnt even his skin, hardened 
though it was. Then he made believe to drop the hot potato 
in Moira's lap. 

Instantly, she jumped up and shook her pretty white skirts. 
"Camp-fire potatoes are always as black as coal," she said. 

"Oh, but they're good!" said Father Tim, rubbing his hands 
and smacking his lips. His eyes twinkled with recollections 
of days when he and Grandpa Devera, boys about James's age, 
used to build camp-fires on their own special play-ground, next 



to this same potato patch. Black Dan, then a boy like them- 
selves, was a good play-fellow. 

"Anna," said Father Tim, turning to Mother, "I told Dan 
this afternoon that the whole garden never looked so fine as it 
does this year; that is, not since he and I were boys. And Dan 
said that Captain Michael ought to have the credit for it." 

"That's just like Dan," said Michael. "They made me 
captain because I can't do much besides give orders, while I 
hop around on these." He pointed to the crutches beside his 
chair. "I must say that I have a fine company here (yes, you're 
in it, Moira). And with old Dan and. the two Huber boys 
they are as good as any scout workers I have ever seen. You 
know, Father Tim," he added, lifting his head and squaring 

his shoulders in that 
nice, manly way of 
his, "our St. Stanis- 
laus Troop was about 
the finest set of boy 
scouts in the whole 
Bay State." 

"Father Tim," 

said James, "wouldn't 

could organize a St. Stan- 

, among the boys of Maple- 




and James got enthusias- 
m seemed to enjoy listen- 

/hile David's voice came 
i stairs, under the hall win- 
d Moira had gone to play 
his cage among the palms, 
avid called. And then, a 
louder, "Father Tim!" 
"Well, Davy lad?" 



"Father Tim, if those big boys don't stop talking I'll forget 
my parable. It was almost forgot when I said it over just now 
for Moira. I'm sure Michael wouldn't like me to forget it; 
he had a mighty hard time teaching it to me. Didn't vou. 
Michael?" 

"Well, I've had harder times than that, Davy, when I tried 
to put something into my own head." 

"Stand right where you are, Davy dear," said Mother, "and 
say your parable. Say it nice and loud." 

"The way you do on Sundays, Father Tim, when you 
preach from the pulpit. I'll be a preacher some day; won't I, 
Mother?" 

"Well, you can be a preacher now, David. Begin!" And 
so David, in his little white suit, stood there beneath the stained 
glass window where the archangel held his flashing sword and 
protecting shield. And this little child repeated the same divine 
words that the Lord Jesus spoke in Galilee, on the lake-shore, 
two thousand years ago. 

Sfte Jflugtarb g>eeb 

Another parable He (the Lord Jesus) spoke to them, saying: 
To what shall I liken the kingdom of God, or to what shall I 

compare it. 
The kingdom of God is like to a grain of mustard seed, which 

a man took and cast into his garden. 
It is the least indeed of all seeds that are in the earth. But 

when it is sown, it groweth up, and shooteth out great 

branches. 
And the birds of the air come and dwell in the branches, and 

under the shadow thereof. 

As David's clear, high voice recited Our Lord's beautiful 
parable, Billy-Bird, with his dainty head to one side, listened 
as intently as did Father Tim, leaning back in his big chair and 
gazing up at the little preacher. 

But when David waved his arms, as if they were the branches 
that he was speaking of, Billy-Bird could sit still no longer. 




He flew out of his cage and perched on the little 
boy's shoulder. 

"Ho!" David gave his sweet little laugh. "Billy- 
Bird, you thought I was a mustard tree; didn't you?" 

"Perhaps Billy-Bird is right," said Michael, 
enjoying this unexpected addition to the program he 
had planned. "Father Tim, I think David will be 
Our Lord's mustard tree some day; or, at least, a 
big branch of it." 

"Why, Michael?" 

"Because Our Lord's mustard tree is the Church, 
and Davy says he intends to be a bishop." 

"Come here, Davy lad. Why do vou want 
bishop?" 

"Because I saw the bishop at church, and he had a high gold 
cane. Mother said it was like the staff that the Lord Jesus has 
when He carries a little lamb on His shoulders, and all the 
other sheep are around Him. Like that'' and his pudgy little 
hand pointed to a picture on the wall. 

"So you want to be a Good Shepherd, do you, David?" 

"I used to think I'd like to be a soldier, Father Tim. But 
I believe it would be much nicer to be a Good Shepherd, like 
Our Lord. Would you like me to be a Good Shepherd, Father 
Tim?" 

"I would, indeed, my little David." 

"So would Mother; she said so." 

"Davy dear," said Moira, coming down the stairs with 
Billy-Bird's cage, "put Billy-Bird back where he belongs. I'm 
afraid you are crushing him in your hand." 

"He was a naughty bird to fly out here in the green hall." 
Moira gave him a tap with her finger as he hopped through his 
open door. "He knows he may come out only in the sun-parlor; 
and that is where I am going to put him now." 

"Don't scold him, Moira. Poor Billy-Bird! He thought 
we left his cage open on purpose when we were playing with 



him a while ago. Didn't you, Billy-Bird?" And Billy-Bird sang 
merrily, as his little mistress carried him away. 

Then David said, "Father Tim, didn't Michael teach me a 
nice parable?" 

"A very beautiful parable, Davy; and you said it perfectly." 

"Michael is going to teach me one about the Good Shepherd 
and the little lamb that got lost. I like that one better than the 
PARABLE OF THE MUSTARD SEED. Will you come 
out again, for another visit, when I know it?" 

"We'll see about it, Davy, we'll see. Your old Father Tim 
has a lot of other little lambs, and a lot of big ones, to look 
after." 

"I know," said Davy. "You're a Good Shepherd, too, like 
Our Lord." 

"Anna" (Father Tim turned to Mother), "I want to stop 
in and see poor Ned Gorman on my way home. May these 
children go with me?" 

"You don't mean the four of them, Father!" 

"Yes, Anna, the four of them. I saw Betty Gorman this 
morning, and she told me that what her husband wants is a bit 
of cheering up. I think Betty and the babies need it too. We'll 
be a kind of surprise party. Won't we, Davy?" 

And so it happened that, ten minutes later, the surprise party 
was starting down Maple Avenue. James and Moira were in 
the lead, with a large basket between them. David had a little 
basket of his own. You know there never was a surprise party 
without baskets. 

The great old trees, holding up their branches to form an 
arch of green overhead, rustled and whispered and sent the news 
all down the shady avenue. Friendly breezes tried to push the 
maple leaves aside, so that warm little sunbeams could peek 
through at the party. Red birds and blue birds, robins and spar- 
rows, hopped from twig to twig and gossipped with their bird 
neighbors, telling them, no doubt, that the surprise party was go- 
ing to Ned Gorman's cottage, down Dacey Lane; that poor Ned 



had been sick a whole month and was fretting dreadfully be- 
cause he wanted to get up and work for his wife and babies. 

Old Dan, who had helped to get the party started, was lean- 
ing over the Devera gate, just at the head of the avenue. As 
little David turned round for the last time, Dan waved his 
garden hat, and then went to speak to Mrs. Devera, who was 
standing on the wide front steps of the stately old mansion. 

"Mistis Anna," he said, "ou' li'l Davy's got de fines' fresh 
strawb'ries I evah seen f'om ou' gahden; de fines' in many a 





yeah. An' comin' long so airly; tain' June yet; seems like dey 
knowed 'bout dis yere s'prise pahty." 

"David's basket looked very pretty, Dan, 
with the grape leaves all round the red 
berries. But I hope Susan and Lyda sent 
plenty of cookies and sandwiches." 

"You kin shuah trus' Susan fo' dat, Mistis 
Anna. How many's a time I heahs huh say 
since young Cap'n Michael come, 'All ou' 
Devera boys kin eat mighty heahty, an' 'eir 
fadahs afo' 'em was de same." 

"Dan, I want you to do something for me." She gave him 
her instructions. 

"Yes'm, Mistis Anna," said the old darkey, his face all a 
broad grin. "Now, ain' dat a cap'tal idee? I'll go jest ez fas' 
ez dese yere old laigs'll cairry me." 

Almost as spry as a boy, he hurried down through the vege- 
table garden, out the back gate, and on toward the village. 

"Won't ou' li'l Davy be s'prised t' see ole Dan?" He 
chuckled at the thought of it. "I'll git dar most ez soon ez he 
will. I'll be a s'prise pahty all ba ma own se'f." He chuckled 
again. "Ice cream'll go mighty nice long o' Davy's fresh straw- 
b'ries f'om ou' gahden; mighty nice!" 

He hurried on, smacking his lips and chuckling by turns. 
"Mighty nice! Mighty nice! Won't ou' li'l Davy be s'prised!" 
Meanwhile, Mother went to the front gate to catch a last 
glimpse of the party as it moved down Maple Avenue. Slowly 
it moved; because Michael, brisk and cheery as he was, moved 
his crutches slowly. 

Father Timothy, at Michael's side, tall and sturdy, his gray 
head bare, his stout walking stick in one hand and his broad 
straw hat in the other, seemed to be the gayest one of the merry 
group. With the crook of his hawthorn stick, he reached out 
again and again after David, who frisked about like a little 
white lamb. 



"Truly, a Good Shepherd!" said Mother. And then, on 
her way back to the house, she stopped at Moira's flower-bed, 
pulled a few weeds which the little girl had overlooked, gathered 
a handful of pansies and, going into the cool, green hall, she 
placed the posy beneath the beautiful picture of Our Lord, the 
Divine Good Shepherd. 

"Keep my little lambs white, dear Lord Jesus," she whis- 
pered reverently. "And, oh, You know how I wish You would 
change Michael's crutches into a shepherd's crook! You could 
do it so easily, Lord Jesus; all power is Yours, in heaven and 
on earth." 




CHAPTER VI 

HE COMMANDETH BOTH THE WINDS AND THE WAVES 

OH, you should have been there, Father," said James; "it 
was great!" The children had been giving an account 
of their afternoon with Father Timothy. 

"I hope it was not too great for a poor sick man like Ned 
Gorman." 

"Betty said she was sure it was a turning point for Ned. 
She has high hopes that he will start getting well now, 'seein' 
as he had some good cheerin' up.' Oh, we cheered him up 
all right!" 

"When Father Tim told us we had better go home," said 
Moira, "I really thought it was because we were getting too 
noisy. But Father Tim just declared it wasn't. He said he 
knew that a big storm would be coming up before long, though 
it didn't look at all like it then." 

"I asked him how he knew," said James, "and he told me 
that a man who has lived seventy years on this earth, and has 
been caught in many a storm, knows something of the ways of 
the weather." 

"We had not been home long," said Michael, "when the 
heavens proved that Father Tim was right." 

"He always is," said Father. "And I got caught; caught 
without rain-curtains on the auto. You see, I am not so weather- 
wise as Father Tim is." 

"Well, the wisest man in the world," said Michael, "can't 
escape an occasional shower." 

"He can't hold up a shower; that's sure." 

"He can't prevent even one little drop of rain from falling," 
said Moira. 

60 



"There! that's another storm coming!" A flash of lightning 
lit up the dusky room and a thunder cloud exploded in the 
distance. 

"Can you imagine any man who could stop that lightning 
flash, or could check that savage growling of the thunder?" 

Father stood there with them, watching the storm. They 
were in the sun-parlor where Father liked to spend his evenings 
because it was the very place for his usual romp with the children 
before they settled down for a talk together. 

The rain came dashing against the glass side of the long 
room as if, frightened by the screeching, driving wind, it was 
determined to force an entrance somewhere. Again and again, 
the lightning, like a mighty sword, made a flashing zigzag cut 
through the darkening sky. Thunders came, first in rumbling, 
far-away explosions, then in deafening crashes close by. 

There was not a star in the dark heavens, but the children's 
eyes were shining like stars. No ; not with fright. Though they 
were silent, they were not the least bit afraid. They often 
watched a storm in this way, especially if it, came up after 
dark, and Father could stand there with them. 

At last, when a terrific clap of thunder had followed another 
blinding flash of lightning that cut its flaming way down through 
the whole black sky, Father said, as if half to himself: 

Who is ignorant that the hand of the Lord hath made all 
these things? .... in whose hand is the soul of every living 
creature. 

The clouds are His covert, 

And He walketh about the poles of heaven. 

Who will grant me that I might know Him and find Him, 
And come even to His throne? 

Behold, even the moon doth not shine, 
And the stars are not pure in His sight. 
The pillars of the heavens tremble, 
And dread at His beck. 

His eyes are upon the ways of men, 
And He considereth all their steps. 



"Go on, Father! Please!" Even though Moira did not 
understand every word, she loved to hear Father's beautiful 
voice repeating the words of Holy Scripture; and she felt, 
somehow, that what he said just fitted the magnificent storm. 
Father continued: 

He shall thunder with the voice of His majesty, 
And shall not be found out, 
When His voice shall be heard. 

God shall thunder wonderfully with His voice, 
He that doth great and unsearchable things. 

He commandeth the snow 

That it go down upon the earth, 

And the rain, and the shower of His strength. 

When God bloweth, there cometh frost, 

And again the waters are poured out abundantly. 

Corn desireth clouds, 

And the clouds spread their light. 

They go round about, 

Wheresoever His will leadeth them, 

The will of Him that governeth them, 

To whatsoever place He commandeth them 

Upon the face of the whole earth. 

Wilt thou have confidence in His great strength, 
And leave thy labors to Him? 

Wilt thou trust Him 

That He will render thee the seed, 

And will gather it into thy barn floor? 

The storm had not stopped, but it had quieted down for 
a little while. Now, the wind started up again with 
hideous screeching and wailing. 

"Wouldn't you almost think," said Michael, 
"that the Lord permits the very devils to ride the 
winds on a night like this?" 

"Ho!" said David, "the devils can't hurt anybody 
if God don't let them. But I wish the storm would 
stop. Will our garden be all spoiled, Father?" 




"Our garden will come out all right, Davy; though there 
will be some extra work for you gardeners to do." 

"Davy's squash vines will be all right. But what about our 
fine, up-standing ranks of cornstalks? A sorry looking army 
they'll be in the morning." 

"Let's not borrow trouble, James," said Michael. "Our 
own little patch won't be any worse than the big corn fields 
round about. And if the farmers can bear it, I suppose we 
can." 

"Remember what Father said." And Moira tried to repeat 
the words: 

Wilt thou trust in God 
And leave thy labors to Him ? 

"Where's Mother? She's staying away a long time to- 
night." Father turned briskly toward the door. 

"She's upstairs, with Baby." James gave the information. 

"Where's Lyda?" 

"Listen!" Above the sound of wind and dashing rain, came 
Lyda's voice. She was trying to comfort Susan and Dan down- 
stairs; and she was getting rather impatient about it. 

The two old darkeys were praying out loud, "Good Lawd, 
ha' me'cy on us po' sinnahs!" 

James began to laugh. He never could help seeing the funny 
side of things. 

"None of that, James," said Father sternly. "Go and bring 
them up here." 

Father switched on the electric light; the room had been dark 
all this while, except for the glare of the lightning flashes. Then 
he began to draw all the curtains. 

Moira was helping him. "Leave one open, Father, do! I 
love to see it." 

"So do I, my little princess. It is magnificent! But it 
would be a different thing if we were out there, at the mercy 
of the storm, instead of in this snug place." 

"Marse James," came a quavering old voice from the hall 



door. "Ain' dis yere a mos' unnachel bad stohm, an' lastin' 
unnachel long?" 

"Come in, Dan," said Father heartily. Taking the faithful 
old servant by the arm, he put him into a comfortable chair, 
with his back to the uncurtained window. 

Lyda pushed Susan into the room, and then ran upstairs 
to Baby. 

"Come here, Susan," said Moira, following Father's example 
and taking the trembling old woman to a chair next to Dan's. 
"It is a most terrible storm; but don't be afraid. See, I'm 
not afraid at all." 

"Bress yo' li'l wahm heawt, ma honey chile! Wat fo' shud 
you be 'fraid, ma li'l w'ite angel? It's de ole brack sinnahs dat 
draw down de angah ob de good Lawd." 

"Oh, you're not an awful 

sinner, Susan. You're good, 

very good! Mother said so." 

"Bress huh maganimous 

heawt!" said humble Susan. 

"Now, Dan," said David, 
who had cuddled into the same 
big chair with the old man, 
"you're not afraid any more, 
are you?" 

"No, ma li'l w'ite lamb. 
"Wif you so close, de good 
Lawd's right ahm mus' be roun' 
me." 

"Dan," said Father, "don't 
you and Susan want to hear 

"A MOS UNNACHEL BAD STOHM!" I_ . .1 • -,«« 

about the surprise party? 

"We bin hearin' 'bout it, Marse James. Lyda she tole us 
all dat dese chillun said in de dinin' room." 

"Oh, but that wasn't all," little David insisted. "I haven't 
even told Father what I did just before we started for home." 




"What did you do, Davy?" Father asked. 

"Father Tim made me say my PARABLE OF THE 
MUSTARD SEED for Ned Gorman. He liked it." 

"Suppose you say it for me, son, and for Dan and Susan." 

And David said it. 

As Father well knew, not even the storm, which was still 
raging, could distract the attention of these two good old servants 
from the 'li'l w'ite lamb,' who was the pride and the darling 
of their hearts. 

"Father," cried David when he had finished, "Michael ought 
to say his parable. He forgot it this afternoon when Father 
Tim was here." 

"You see, Father," said James, "we started talking on our 
boy scout plans and got Father Tim interested. I'll tell you 
what he said." 

"But Davy thinks Michael ought to say his parable. I'm 
sure Dan thinks so, too. How about it, Dan?" 

"W'y, Marse James, jes' w'at ou' li'l Davy sez; dat's al'ays 
right fo' ole Dan." 

"It's the nicest parable we've had yet," said Davy. "It's 
about a fishing net. I'm sure St. Peter and the apostles liked 
it best, 'cause they were fishermen." 

"At any rate," said Michael, laughing at David's wise re- 
mark, "they seemed to understand it best of all. Our Lord 
did not have to explain it to them, as He did the other parables 
He told that afternoon on the lake-shore." 

"Tell it, Michael," said Moira; "and then tell about the 
storm on Lake Galilee that same night, when Our Lord com- 
manded the winds and the waves. Susan would like that; I'm 
sure she would." 

"Bress yo' wahm li'l heawt, ma honey chile; bress yo' shinin' 
soul in yo' shinin' eyes." 

Michael began. And if you want to know how very beau- 
tiful the words of Holy Scripture are, you ought to hear someone 
with a voice like Michael's repeat them for you. 




GATHERING TOGETHER OF ALL KINDS OF FISHES 
St. Matthew xiii. 47- 



<Ef)e parable of tfje Jffe&tng J^et 

The kingdom of heaven is like to a net cast into the sea, and 

gathering together of all kinds of fishes. 
Which when it was filled, they drew out; and sitting by the 

shore, they chose out the good into vessels; but the bad 

they cast forth. 
So shall it be at the end of the world. The angels shall go out, 

and shall separate the wicked from among the just, and shall 

cast them into the furnace of tire; there shall be weeping 

and gnashing of teeth. 

"But that is not the place for you, Dan," said Father quickly, 
"nor for you either, Susan. You will be among the good 
fishes, not among the bad ones, when the fishing net is 
pulled to the shore. What did Our Lord mean by the net, 
Michael?" 

"The net is Christ's true Church, Uncle James." 

"And so Our Lord knew that there would be bad people as 
well as good people in his true Church?" 

"He knew everything, because He was God. He knew that 
right among His twelve apostles, round Him all the time, there 
was one who would be a traitor. God does not force anybody 
to be good. But after all the bad ones have had a fair chance, 
He throws them out. Their chance is in this world, not in the 
next." 

"De good Lawd ha' me'cy!" cried Dan. There was an- 
other crash of thunder. ."He's a showin' His powah dis night 
shuah!" 

"Marse James," said Susan, "it do seem to me, in a unnachel 
sto'm like dis, de good Lawd lets de evil sperrits loose fo' a 
w'ile. Jes' to show us, me'ciful-like, w'at hawdened sinnahs 
has to 'spect in de nex wo'ld." 

"Well, Susan, that's not a bad idea of yours." 

"But don't you be afraid, Susan," said Moira; "you are not 
one of those hardened sinners. Please go on, Michael, and tell 
how the Lord Jesus commanded the storm to be still." 



Ctje £§>totm on Hake Galilee 

That day, when evening was come, Jesus seeing great multi- 
tudes about Him, went into a little ship with His disciples, 

and He said to them: Let us go over to the other side of 

the lake. 
And sending away the multitude, they took Him, even as He 

was, in the ship. (That means they did not wait to make 

any preparations. Our Lord was very tired; He had been 

preaching, and teaching, and explaining His parables, and 

healing the sick.) 
And they launched forth. And there were other ships with 

Him. 
And when they were sailing, He slept. 
And there arose a great storm of wind and came down on the 

lake, and a great tempest arose in the sea, so that the ship 

was covered with waves. 
And they were in danger. 
And He (Jesus) was in the hinder part of the ship, sleeping 

upon a pillow. ("Poor Jesus," said David, "He was tired.") 
And His disciples came to Him and awakened Him, saying: 

Master doth it not concern Thee that we perish? 
Lord, save us, we perish! (It must have been a frightful storm, 

if those old fishermen, who spent their whole lives on the 

lake, could not manage the ship.) 
And Jesus said to them: Why are you fearful ( O ye of little 

faith? 
Then rising up, He rebuked the wind and the raging of the 

water. 
And He said to the sea: Peace! Be still! 
And the wind ceased. And there was made a great calm. 
And He said to them: Where is your faith? Have you not 

faith yet? 
But the men wondered (His own disciples, and the other men 

that followed Him in the other boats). And they feared 

exceedingly, and they said one to another: 
Who is this, thinkest thou, that He commandeth both the winds 

and the sea, and they obey Him? 
And they sailed over the sea, to the country of the Gerasens, 

which is over against Galilee. 



Michael stopped there. Mother had entered the room while 
he was speaking. "Come, David," she said, "you will have to 
go to sleep on a pillow, as the dear Lord Jesus did; but your 
little bed will be your ship." 

"Poor Lord Jesus," said David, as Dan jumped him out 
of the big chair, "the fishermen waked Him up when He was 
so tired. I'm sure my good St. Peter didn't do that." 

"Our Lord knew all about the storm," said Moira, "even 
while He was sleeping. They could not have perished while He 
was in the ship with them. They ought not to have been so 
frightened, even if it was a most terrible storm." 

"Well," said Father, "I'm rather glad they did get a scare 
like that, for it gave us a beautiful story of Our Lord's kindness 
and of His wonderful power. You told the story well, Michael. 
Don't you think so, son?" 

This last question was for David. The little fellow had been 
all round, saying his good-nights; and he had come to Father 
for his "bear's hug," which was always the last thing. 

"Michael does everything fine." 

"Moira, I want you to come also," said Mother. 

Dan and Susan slipped away quietly; and so, in a few 
minutes, the two big boys had Father all to themselves. 




CHAPTER VII 

FATHER AND THE TWO BIG BOYS 

|~ ET us tell you what Father Tim said this afternoon." Now 
| j that the two big boys had Father to themselves, this 
was their chance. 
"About your scout plans? Well?" 




"Father Tim got interested at once; just as soon as we started 
the subject of forming a St. Stanislaus Company, like the one 
Michael captained at home, you know, before . . . ." 



"Before I got hurt. Say it, James; you need not mind." 
Michael squared his shoulders bravely. "I'll be glad to do 
anything I can to help the boys organize a scout company." 

"Well," said Father, "if you boys have Father Tim on your 
side, if he has given his approval, the thing is settled." 

"No, Uncle James, Father Tim did not say that. He told 
us he would write to Boy Scout Headquarters, get full informa- 
tion about the movement, learn all the requirements, and so 
forth. He said also that he would talk the matter over with 
you, and with the parents of the other boys." 

"The boys want you for scout master," said James. "They 
proposed that themselves, Father. I didn't; neither did 
Michael." 

"They are going a little too fast. Let Father Tim get the 
information from Headquarters first. Then he will be the one 
to choose a scout master for you, and he will help you to organize. 
If you do the thing at all, you've got to start the right way. 
For boy scouts, as well as for soldiers, obedience to authority is 
the road to success." 

"I hope you will accept the post, Uncle James. Father Tim 
will surely ask you; that is, if the idea is carried through. You 
would make a fine scout master, for several reasons, though the 
boys want you chiefly because you were a captain overseas. They 
know you were in all the worst fighting, though there is no one 
who talks less about the war than you do, Uncle James. I have 
not heard you mention it once in the two months I have been 
here." 

"Michael," said Father, "it is something I want to forget. 
War is a frightful thing. I want to wash out all its horrible 
scenes from my memory. I do not permit myself to think of 
them. Sometimes, however, they come back; as tonight, for in- 
stance, while we were watching the storm." 

The two boys were very quiet. They wanted Father to go 
on; and he did. 

"God's lightning flashes, His tremendous thunder claps, are 



magnificent. But the storm of war, when deadly shells go tear- 
ing through the air, that is horrible, horrible! 

"Poor Susan! she thought the 'evil sperms' must be riding 
the winds tonight. Many a time I heard the boys in the trenches 
say, 'The very devils must be riding those screeching shells!' 
I think they were right. No one but a devil could take delight 
in war; and nothing but a strong sense of duty could make a 
good man take part in it." 

"Uncle James," said Michael, "what were you thinking of 
when you repeated those verses during the storm?" 

Father's face changed; it lit up with a smile. "I was think- 
ing of the boys of my company. Though they hated the mud 
and the slush in the trenches (poor lads! they had reason to hate 
everything in those dirty holes), they did enjoy God's thunder 
and lightning; and they loved a downpour of fresh, clean rain, 
if they could only get out in it. Those verses I repeated are 
some that I learned from one of our boys. He had a marvelous 
memory, and could recite page after page of the Bible. I learned 
a great many chapters just from listening to him. So did the 
other boys." 

"That was Dick Gray," said James, "Mother's cousin. Tell 
about him, Father." 

"Please do, Uncle James." 

"Dick Gray was our library. He was filled full with books, 
as our little David would say. He could recite almost any story, 
or poem, or play, that the boys asked for. But what do you 
think those brave soldier lads asked for most frequently?" 

The boys looked at Father with eyes that understood; but 
they were silent. 

"Day after day, night after night, the men called on Dick 
Gray for 'Bible Stories.' Many of those lads never knew before 
how interesting and how beautiful the Bible really is." 

"Had Dick Gray memorized the whole Bible, Uncle James?" 

"He knew a great part of it, to start with. Then I lent him 
my precious little copy (he had lost his own) and he would 



read it when he found a chance. Whatever he read once or 
twice he remembered. When he recited a Bible story for the 
boys, he gave it to them almost word for word. And the way 
those soldier lads listened! It was no wonder that many of 
them could repeat the stories later, almost as well as Dick 
Gray did." 



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NJOVED MOST WAS THE STORY C 



"What stories did they like best, Father?" 

"They often asked for the story of Joseph and his twelve 
brothers, the story of Moses and the ten plagues, and the wan- 
derings of the Israelites in the desert. Sometimes they wanted 
the story of Joshua or of King David. But the poor fellows had 
so much of actual war right around them, that very few of them 
cared to hear about fighting, even in Bible stories. What they 
enjoyed most, was to sit or lie perfectly still while Dick recited 
chapter after chapter of the story of Our Lord, as it is told in 
the Gospels." 

"That is what we are studying now," said James. 

"Which reminds me, son, that I have not heard you do your 



part. Michael, I liked the way you gave the story of the Storm 
at Sea." 

"Thank you, Uncle James," said Michael. "James and I 
studied that together. He memorizes more quickly than I do. 
He knows several parables and several miracle stories that I 
have not yet learned." 

"There is one parable," said Father, "that I like best of all. 
In telling it, Our Lord painted a perfect picture of himself." 

"The Good Shepherd and the Lost Sheep," said James. 
"That's Davy's parable; he would feel all cut up if I recited 
his parable for you." 

"That is not the one I mean," said Father. 

"But you said it was a picture of Our. Lord; and Jesus him- 
self tells us, 'I am the Good Shepherd.' " 

"He painted more than one picture of himself. The Good 
Shepherd seeking for His lost sheep is a beautiful picture of 
Our Lord; but there is another that I like better." 

"There's the parable of the Prodigal Son," said Michael; 
"but I think Our Lord gave us the picture of His heavenly 
Father in that story." 

"You're right, Michael, so He did. That is called the 'pearl' 
of all the parables. It is certainly the most beautiful of Our 
Lord's stories. It is His masterpiece. But that is not the one 
I spoke of as the perfect picture of Jesus himself." 

"It could not be The Good Samaritan," said James. 

"Why not?" Father asked. 

"Because the Samaritans were people whom the Jews hated 
and despised. They did not belong to the Jewish nation ; and Our 
Lord was a Jew." 

"Oh, I see," said Michael. "The Good Samaritan, though he 
was hated and insulted by the Jews, saved the life of a poor 
wounded Jew when he found him on the roadside; and that is 
what Our Lord does to sinners, to all of us who offend Him." 

"You are right, Michael. And the better you understand 
that parable of THE GOOD SAMARITAN, the better you 




HE, LAYING HIS HANDS ON EVERY ONE OF THEM, HEALED THEm" " 
— St. Luke iv. 40. 



will understand Our Lord. And the more you know of the 
Lord Jesus, the more clearly you will see His picture in that 
parable. You see, the knowledge increases both ways. I hope 
you will learn the story of The Good Samaritan, James; and 
you too, Michael." 

"I have learned it, Father. But I did not study all the cir- 
cumstances which led up to it; as Mother said we ought to do. 
If you say that part, Father, I can give the parable." 

"Very well, I might begin where the lawyer asked Our 
Lord the question, 'Who is my neighbor?' But I think I'll go 
back farther than that." 

The boys sat up; they liked Father's way of telling a story. 




"It was in the third year of Our Lord's public life. For 
two years and a half, He had traveled about Palestine preach- 
ing and working miracles, to prove to His people that He was 
the promised Messiah, and showing them the way to Heaven. 



At first, His miracles had gained for Him crowds of friends 
and followers. Some of these had remained true. But the 
things that Jesus taught, and the way in which He showed 
up the deceitfulness of the proud pharisees (who were hypo- 
crites) made for Him many enemies. 

"The priests and the lawyers (or scribes, as they were called) 
were His enemies also. It was their office to teach the people; 
and they were jealous because the poor Carpenter of Nazareth 
had made such a great name for himself all through the coun- 
try, and had not consulted them as to how or what He should 
teach. They were offended also because crowds of people ac- 
cepted this Wonderworker of Nazareth as the Messiah; and 
they hated Him because the goodness of His life put them 
to shame. 

"These men were great scholars; they knew the law and they 
knew the prophecies. But they had their own ideas as to what 
kind of a Messiah they wanted, and as to the manner in which 
He had made himself known — first to themselves, and then 
to the common people. Of course there are some good men in 
every class. So all of the lawyers were not proud and wicked; 
neither were all of the priests, nor all of the Levites (the young 
men who were studying to be priests and who helped them in 
the courts of the Temple). Indeed, Our Lord had some very 
true friends among the teachers of the law and the scribes." 

"Nicodemus was a good lawyer," said James. 

"Lazarus, the rich brother of Mary and Martha, was a good 
scribe," said Michael. 

"Well, as I was saying," Father went on, "Jesus had come 
to the middle of his third year of preaching. It was autumn, 
the beautiful month of October; the harvests had been gathered 
in; the winter rains would not commence for some time. This 
was just the season for another great preaching tour; and Jesus 
had planned well for carrying it on. 

"He had sent out seventy-two of His disciples on a great 
scouting expedition (as you boys might call it). Two and two, 



Jesus sent His scouts to every city, town, and village, where He 
himself would go, a little later. Each pair of scout disciples 
started out with full instructions as to where they were to go, 
what they were to say, and what they were to do. Our Lord 
gave orders even as to their outfit for the expedition." 

"Tell us the orders that Our Lord gave to His scouts," said 
James. 

"I am afraid it would make the story too long," said Father. 

"No, Uncle James, please do I" 

"Well, that was really the greatest scouting expedition the 
world has ever known, and those seventy-two men were truly 
brave to make it; for, as I have told you, Our Lord had power- 
ful enemies, and they tracked Him and His disciples everywhere. 

"St. Luke gives this simple, straightforward account: 

After these things (that is, after some weak -hearted disciples 
had turned away from Jesus) the Lord appointed other seventy- 
two: and He sent them two by two before His face, into every 
city and place whither He himself was to come. 

And He said to them: The harvest, indeed, is great, but 
the laborers are few. Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the 
harvest, that He send laborers into His harvest. (He meant 
laborers to work for the salvation of souls.) 

Go: Behold, I send you as lambs among wolves (His 
enemies). Be ye, therefore, wise as serpents, and simple as 
doves. (This Our Lord says in another place.) 

Carry neither purse, nor scrip (which means knapsack), nor 
shoes, and salute no man by the way. (That is, don't burden 
yourselves with baggage, wear light sandals for swift walking, 
and go straight to those particular towns mentioned in your 
orders. ) 

And into what city soever you enter, and they receive you, 
eat such things as are set before you (for the laborer is worthy 
of his hire) and heal the sick that are therein, and say to them: 
The Kingdom of God is come nigh unto you. 

But into whatsoever city you enter, and they receive you 
not, going forth into the streets thereof say : Even the very dust 
of your city that cleaveth to us, we wipe off against you. Yet 
know this, that the Kingdom of God is at hand. 



I say to you, it shall be more tolerable at that day for Sodom 
(the wicked city which lies buried under the Dead Sea) than 
for that city. 

He that heareth you, heareth Me; 
and he that despiseth you, despiseth Me; 
and he that despiseth Me, 
despiseth Him that sent Me. 

"At the time appointed for the return of some, or all, of 
these seventy-two scouts, the Lord Jesus was awaiting them; 
very probably near to Jericho, where several important roads 
met. Around Jericho were great palm-groves and beautiful 
rose-gardens. The city itself was rich and thriving, a place 
where many people of all classes went for business; and many 
persons who were rich went there for pleasure." 

"It was the home of Zacheus," said Michael, "the rich 
publican, or the chief of the tax-gatherers, as he is also called, 
I believe." 

James added, with a smile, "The little man who climbed up 
a sycamore tree so that he could see Jesus when He was passing 
in the crowd." 

"The little man with a big, generous heart*' said Father. 
"Our Lord did not have the pleasure of meeting any other rich 
man who 'received Him with joy' and who offered, of his own 
accord, to give half of his possessions to the poor, besides restor- 
ing fourfold to any person he might have wronged. But the 
story of Zacheus comes later; that happened on Our Lord's very 
last journey through Jericho, when He was going to Jerusalem 
to die for us." 

"Please go on with the story about the scouts, Father. Did 
Our Lord wait for them in one of the palm-groves round 
Jericho?" 

"I think He must have appointed some quiet place for the 
round-up, because He wanted to speak to His disciples inti- 




mately, and have them give Him an account of all they had 
done. But the place would not have been too far 
from the public road; for, as Our Lord himself 
said later (in presence of His judges), He 
never did anything secretly. Then, too, I think 
Our Lord was eagerly watching the 
road for the first sight of His re- 
turning scouts. He gave them a 
kind welcome, you may be sure. 
Though there was always 
dignity in Our Lord's 
manner, there was none of 
the coldness which would 
make people timid about 
approaching Him. This 
is what St. Luke says about 
the disciples: 

And the seventy-two returned with joy, saying: 
Lord, the devils also are subject to us in Thy name. 

"You will remember that when He gave them their instruc- 
tions, at the time of setting out, He did not promise them this 
power over devils. He said only, 'Heal the sick.' But His grace 
followed them, because they were obedient to all instructions, 
and so their success was greater than they had expected. Notice 
also that they say, 'the devils are subject to us in Thy name! 
They did not take the glory of it to themselves. Nevertheless, 
Our Lord warned them against pride, by reminding them of the 
fall of Lucifer. 

And He (Jesus) said to them: I saw Satan like lightning 
falling from heaven. 

Behold, I have given you power to tread upon serpents and 
scorpions, and upon all the power of the enemy (Satan) ; and 
nothing shall hurt you. 

But rejoice not in this, that spirits are subject unto you; 
rejoice rather in this, that your names are written in Heaven. 

81 



"Then St. Luke goes on to say that Our Lord himself re- 
joiced in the success of His disciples and thanked His heavenly 
Father for it. He was just concluding His congratulations to 
these happy scouts of His when, somewhere at the back of the 
crowd, a certain lawyer stood up to tempt Him, which means, 
no doubt, to test Our Lord's knowledge." 

"Was this lawyer one of Our Lord's enemies?" James asked. 

"He might have been," said Father. "Our Lord's enemies 
were tracking Him everywhere at this time, trying to get Him 
to say or do something for which they could bring Him before 
the judges." 

"But do you think this lawyer w r as one of Our Lord's 
enemies?" Michael asked. 

"I am inclined to think he was not. He might have come 
there in a friendly spirit, with some of the returning scouts 
whom he met on the road. I rather think he really wanted to 
get further information from this great Preacher and Wonder- 
worker, whom the brave scouts called Master. 

"I'll give you the story as St. Luke tells it: 

And behold, a certain lawyer stood up, tempting (testing) 
Him, and saying, Master, what must I do to possess eternal 
life? 

But He (Jesus) said to him: What is written in the law? 
How readest thou? He answering said: 

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, 

with thy whole heart, 

and with thy whole soul, 

and with all thy strength, 

and with all thy mind: 
And thy neighbor as thyself. 

And He (Jesus) said to him: Thou hast answered right; 
this do and thou shalt live. 

"But the lawyer was not fully satisfied with this answer. 
There was, among the Jews, a great difference of opinion as 



to the meaning of the word 'neighbor,' in this commandment of 
God. A few of their noblest teachers believed, as we do, that 
the word 'neighbor' means all men, without exception. But 
others believed that only Jews like themselves were their neigh- 
bors. They felt free to despise and insult the Samaritans, to 
hate the Romans, to be cruel to foreign slaves who came with 
their masters to Palestine. Many of the Jews never spoke of a 
Samaritan in any other way than 'that dog of a Samaritan.' 

"It is quite probable that the lawyer who put the question 
to Jesus was one who considered only Jews, like himself, his 
neighbors. He evidently wanted to get into a discussion with 
Our Lord on this subject. Lawyers like to argue a question in 
which they are interested. 

"But Jesus was God, and God does not argue with men. Our 
Lord always had a simple, straightforward way of telling people 
what was right, and pointing out to them their duty. So, when 
this certain lawyer asked, 'Who is my neighbor?' Jesus answered 
by giving him a practical lesson which he could not possibly 
misunderstand. 

"Now, you tell the parable, James. But let me say first, that 
the place where Our Lord and His returned scouts were sitting 
was not far from the very scene described in this story of the 
Good Samaritan; and the lawyer had, evidently, just come that 
way. The road from Jerusalem down to Jericho was steep, 
rocky, and wild. Robbers hid there in caves, and it was a 
common thing for them to attack travelers. 

"Go on, James." And so the boy told, just as St. Luke 
wrote it: 

Qtfje parable of tfje #oot> Samaritan 

And Jesus answering said : A certain man went down from 
Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among robbers, who also stripped 
him, and having wounded him, went away, leaving him half 
dead. 

And it chanced that a certain priest went down the same 
way: and seeing him, passed by. 




AND SETTING HIM UPON HIS OWN BEAST. BROUGHT HIM TO AN INN, 
AND TOOK CARE OF HIM.— St. Luke x. 34. 



In like manner also a Levite (one who was studying to be a 
priest) when he was near the place and saw him, passed by. 

But a certain Samaritan being on his journey, came near 
him; and seeing him, was moved with compassion (with pity). 

And going up to him, bound up his wounds, pouring in oil 
and wine (to heal them) : and setting him upon his own beast, 
brought him to an inn, and took care of him. (He probably 
spent the night taking care of the wounded man.) 

And the next day he took out two pence, and gave to the 
innkeeper. (Mother told us that the Roman pennies, which 
were used in Palestine, were silver, worth about thirty-five 
cents, and that was a good day's wages in those times.) 

And he (the Samaritan) said: Take care of him; and what- 
soever thou shalt spend over and above, I, at my return, will 
repay thee. 

Which of these three, in thy opinion (Jesus said to the 
lawyer), was neighbor to him that fell among the robbers? 

But he said: He that showed mercy to him. (Honestly 
put, though he does not use the hated name, Samaritan.) 

And Jesus said: Go, and do thou in like manner. 



"Now, / shall have to be the Good Samaritan to my three 
big boys, and get them to bed." It was 
Mother. She was in a cozy corner 
near the hall door. 

"Why, Mother, when did you come 
in?" James asked in surprise. 

"Just when Father began to tell 
about Our Lord's scout disciples." 

"You are always as quiet as a little 
mouse, Anna," said Father. "I wonder 
whether there are any other women in 
the world who can keep still as long as 
you can." 

Mother held out a sweater she 
was knitting for one of her boys. 
"My hands were not still." 




"They seldom are; those hands accomplish wonders." Father 
took one of them in his own big, strong hand. Of course, he 
upset the knitting needles with their carefully counted stitches; 
but Mother made no objection — she loved the firm, affectionate 
grasp of her "biggest boy." 

"And the little mouse," said James, following Father's ex- 
ample and putting an arm round Mother with boyish pride in 
her modest loveliness, "our own little Gray mouse, has big gray 
eyes that see everything/' 

"They see just now that it is way past bed time, son. And 
Michael, you must be tired after that long walk of this after- 
noon." 

"Not very tired, Motheranna; and we have had a fine talk 
with Uncle James." 

Father looked at his watch. "We will allow you two boy 
scouts just fifteen minutes to get ready for bed, say your night- 
prayers, and be off to dreamland." 

The boy scouts did it. And they were soon dreaming happily 
of their own new St. Stanislaus Company. 




. BOY SCOUTS, AS FOR SOLDIERS, OBEDIENCE TO AUTHORITY IS THE ROAD TO SUCCESS. 



CHAPTER VIII 

A SUNDAY MORNING WALK 

FROM dreams of a scouting expedition which he and 
Michael were making in Palestine (with St. Peter as 
scout master) James was awakened by a strong hand that 
took a firm grasp on his shoulder. The boy reached out for an 
imaginary club, and then — found himself on 
his own white cot, in Michael's room next to 
the sun-parlor. The strong hand belonged 
to Father, his left; with the right, he pointed 
to Michael who was sleeping at the other side 
of the room. Straight and still the boy lay, 
his white face upturned, the heavy black hair 
thrown back from his fine forehead. His two 
crutches rested securely against the brass rod 
at the head of his cot. 

Father drew out his watch and held it before James. 

The boy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Then the early 
sunbeams, just stealing through the blinds, showed him that the 
watch registered ten minutes after five. 

He was out of bed in an instant. By five-thirty he must be 
on his way to church; it was his turn to serve early Mass. 

Father met the boy again on the front porch. That long, 
strong arm of his reached out just in time to save the front door 
from slamming. 

"I hope Michael did not wake while you were dressing. 1 ' 

"He gave no sign of waking; looked as if he would sleep 
till noon." 

"I wish he could. Mother will wake him in good time. He 





is going to the next Mass with her and the children. That is, 
if the roads are in fit condition for Mother to drive the auto. 
Come, we'll tramp it." 

"Let's go out the back way, Father, and see 
what the storm left of our garden." 

As they passed through the place, and then 
out upon the road, James was silent. 

"Well, son?" 

"I've a mind to throw up the job." 

"Think it over," said Father quietly, but with 'Vvk a mind to 

' L J 1 THROW UP THE JOB. " 

an eye on the boy's face. 

"What's the use? Two months' hard work ruined; and the 
season too far along to begin over again." 

"Didn't you ever see the garden in a plight like that before?" 

"I never paid any particular attention to it till this year." 

"What do you suppose the farmers round here are going 
to do?" 

The boy walked on in silence. Then he said, "I hate to have 
Michael see it; he took such an interest in the garden." 

"Oh, Michael's all right. He has the stuff in him that tackles 
a difficult job." Laying a strong hand on the boy's shoulder, 
Father added, "I rather expect that of you also, son." 

James looked up. Into his eyes (gray eyes like Mother's) 
came a light that said plainer than words, "I understand." The 
boy's lips were set in a firm, straight line. He bent his head 
and thought for a few moments. 

Then, with a boyish laugh, but with a ring of determination 
in his voice, he said, "We will have that scout picnic for Michael ; 
and we will have 'roastin' ears' from our own garden. Will you 
come to the picnic, Father?" 

"I will." 

"How would the Fourth of July do for the date?" 

"Hadn't you better allow those battered cornstalks a little 
more time to get into shape, and to do their full duty?" 

"But when can you have another holiday?" 



"I'll make it a business engagement," 
said Father. 

He drew out a memorandum book and 
pencil. "How would July 21st suit you?" 
"Is that a Friday?" 

Father laughed. "You're thinking of 
Susan's sandwiches. No, it's not a Friday." 
James took from his pocket a book some- 
thing like Father's and, resting it against a 
gate post, he filled two pages with big, firm 
writing. Then he handed the book 
to Father. 

This is what the boy had written: 
"July 2 1 st. Michael' s 
Scout Picnic. Roastin ears 
from our own garden. I 
will make it my business to 
see that those cornstalks produce the ears in good time. 
I will keep on reminding them with a hoe. 
[Signed) James Devera, Jr." 
Father read it through. He clapped the boy on the shoulder 
and said, "James, you're a man!" 

What that meant to James, any of you twelve-year-old boys 
can guess. 

Father and son strode on in silence. 




IN GOOD TIME 



After a little while Father said, "James, I want to tell you 
something about Michael. I had a talk yesterday with Doctor 
Crawford and with the other two doctors whom I brought to this 
city to see what they thought of the boy." 

James was listening intently; he did not say a word. He 
knew that these great doctors had examined Michael thoroughly; 
and he had been hoping that Father would tell him the result. 

"In less than six weeks," said Father quietly, "Michael will 
be able to throw one crutch away." 



"Go on, Father," said James earnestly. "We knew that much 
a month ago. Michael's been improving right along. Even now, 
he hops around occasionally with only the left crutch. It's that I 
want to know about. Tell me!" 

The boy did not dare to look up. He and Michael had 
been building high hopes upon what these doctors would be able 
to do to fix up both legs in a short time. But Father's serious 
manner made James feel that, great as the doctors were, they 
could not promise to do more than the others had done. "Tell 
me, Father," he said again, and there was pain in his voice. 

"Michael will have to keep the left crutch as long as he 
lives." 

James gave a little gasp, as if someone had struck him near 
the heart. Then he said, "I just can't believe it, Father." 

"It is precisely the same opinion that the doctors in the East 
gave. They say that neither nature nor science can repair the 
injury." 

"When are you going to tell Michael?" 

"Mother will tell him on the way to church this morning." 

"Michael will take it like a man," said James. 

"Michael will do more than /A#/, son; he will take it like a 
CHRISTIAN. And that is the way we have to take it." 

"What did Mother say when you told her?" 

"Mother said this: 'If God lets Michael keep one crutch, 
then Michael can do more good going about with a crutch than he 
could do if he had two strong legs. But if Michael needs two 
strong legs for the work God wants him to do in this world, then 
God himself will give Michael two strong legs!' " 

"That is just like Mother; she always says the right thing." 

"She does." 

"I am glad you told me on the way to church. I am going 
to Holy Communion." 

"So am I." 




"Father," said James, as they met and started home after 
Mass, "wasn't it strange that Father Tim should give a sermon 
on the very parables we recited for him yesterday?" 

"Not very strange. Do you remember how you felt when 
you saw your garden all torn up this morning? Don't you think 
that a good many other men and boys, and women too, have 
cause to be discouraged about their ruined work, or about work 
which they think ruined?" 

"Yes; Father Tim brought that out very well in his sermon. 
He scored one splendid point." 

"I thought he scored several good points." 
"I suppose he did, but this particular one struck me because 
I felt like throwing up my job this morning." 

"Tell it, son, and I'll tell you the point that hit me." 

"Father Tim said that 
when we do a good work, 
especially if we are doing 
it for God, one set-back is 
enough to make us throw 
the whole thing over. But 
Our Lord himself keeps on 
sowing His good seeds in 
our lives year after year, 
and day after day, working 
continually for us, although 
He knows that our harvest 
of good deeds will amount 
to very little." 

"Well, James, I hope 
your life will yield Him a 

"SOWING HIS GOOD SEEDS YEAR AFTER YE\R" J 1 .11 T"M r 

good harvest. Then, after a 
minute, Father asked, "Did the parable of .the Barren Fig Tree 
strike you?" 

"Not at all; I had my mind on those battered cornstalks, and 
I was planning how I could set them up again. I never saw a 
fig tree." 





LORD, LET IT STAND THIS YEAR ALSO, UNTIL I DIG ABOUT IT, AND DUNG IT. 
—St. Luke xiii. 8. 



"Neither did I ; not till I went to Palestine with my father 
and Father Tim, after I finished college. But the parable of 
the Barren Fig Tree had a good deal to do with my life before 
that time. Say the parable for me, and I'll tell you the story." 

So James gave the parable, as it is found in St. Luke's Gospel. 

TOe barren iftg Qftee 

He (Jesus) spoke also this parable: A certain man had a 
fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came seeking fruit on 
it, and found none. 

And he said to the dresser of the vineyard (which means 
the gardener) : Behold, for these three years I come seeking 
fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. 

Cut it down, therefore: why doth it take up the ground. 
("That is," said Father, "why should it use up the rich sub- 
stance of the soil, and why should the gardener's time and 
labor be wasted on it. A fig tree needs a great deal of care. 
Go on, James.") 

And he (the gardener) answering said: Lord, let it stand 
this year also, until I dig about it, and dung it; and if it bear 
fruit, well and good; but if not, then after that thou shalt cut 
it down. 

"I don't see how that parable has anything to do with your 
life, Father. You have certainly brought forth plenty of fruit. 
Look at the way you made a success of your business, and what 
you did in the war, and — Why, you're doing good all the time; 
everybody says so." 

"James, if it had not been for the way that parable of the 
Barren Fig Tree was held before me, just at a time when I 
needed a strong lesson, I would have turned out to be nothing 
but a tramp. Here is the story: 

"At the end of my third year in high school a report came 
home to my father that I had failed, failed completely. I had 
been warned of this many a time. In fact, I had barely pulled 
through the second year, though I had started out pretty well 
in the first. 



"I was seventeen years old; a big fellow (almost the size I 
am now) with plenty of muscle and a fair amount of brains. 
I used the muscle all right — baseball, football, boating, swim- 
ming. I thought it was a point of honor not to let any fellow 
do better than I did in these sports. As to the use of my brains! 
Well, I seemed to think there was no shame at all in letting even 
the dull boys forge ahead in their lessons while I fell way 
behind the whole class — out of the race entirely. 

"One day I was in my den (you have it now for your own) 
and I was doing my customary practice at the punching bag. 
My father came in. He had my school report in one hand, a 
letter from the principal in the other. He gave me the report. 
He read the letter aloud, and then handed it to me. The prin- 
cipal stated the plain truth, and I knew it. For two years I 
had done nothing, or almost nothing, in my classes. Therefore, 
/ was dismissed; the principal did not care to have a fellow 
like that in the school, even if he was a fine ball player. 

"My father had only a few words to say. They were these: 
*James, just two ways are open to you. I have a job for you 
where you can use your muscles and earn your living. Tom 
Gorman is willing to try you in his blacksmith shop. The other 
way? Go and take care of yourself! Many a boy of your age 
has to do that." 

Father paused a moment. James, without looking up, gave 
a low whistle. Father continued. 

"The words stunned me — simply stunned me. I could not 
speak. The training a boy gives to his muscles does not prepare 
him to meet a blow like this. 

"While I sat there dazed, my father said, 'You have one week 
to think it over.' And he left the room." 

"Your father did not mean it," said James slowly. 

"James, you knew my father. Did you ever hear him say 
anything he did not mean?" 

"Never; Grandpa meant everything he said." 




HINGS UP. 



"He was always like that; but he always waited a good while 
and thought a great deal, before he made up his mind." 
"Where was Father Tim?" James asked, looking up. 
"Father Tim had gone to Europe that spring, and we did not 
know just when he would be home. I did not consult anybody; 
I was too much ashamed of myself. I had about made up my 
mind that I would leave home. And what a mess I would have 
made of my life, had I done it!" 
"What happened?" James asked. 
"Before the end of the week Father 
Tim got home. He fixed things up with 
Father and with the principal of the high 
school. I was offered another chance. I 
took it." 

"But what about the parable?" said 
James. 

"Father Tim told me that parable of 
the Barren Fig Tree when we two talked 
Then he gave me a queer old picture, 
which he said his own pastor had given to him when he was 
a boy. It represents the fig tree, the master, and the gardner 
with a spade. They have just decided to let the tree have 
another chance to bear fruit. 

"Father Tim hung that picture in my den. The sight of it 
helped me many a time during the next year, when I had to work 
at my books harder than a blacksmith works at the forge, or a 
gardener works with his spade." 

"Where is the picture now, Father?" 

"I have it among my treasures. I meant to give it to you 
later, son. But this is as good a time as any. I thought of it 
last night, when I saw you getting so enthusiastic about your boy 
scout plans. A good thing, James ; but don't neglect your books." 
"When may I have the picture, Father?" 
"Come to my room after breakfast. Run in now and tell 
Mother the roads are fairly good. I'll get out the auto for her." 



things over together. 



"Wait, James," he called after the boy. "You haven't got 
your full orders. Tell Mother that I arranged with Dan and 
Susan to stay in the village with their daughter till the auto picks 
them up after the next Mass." 

"What about breakfast? Lyda will have to look after Baby 
while Mother is away." 

"We two," said Father, "will get a scout breakfast for our- 
selves; and we'll have something for the family when they get 
home. Tell Mother we'll manage it all right." 




CHAPTER IX 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD 



IT WAS an evening late in May. Father Timothy was in his 
garden, where he loved to spend a quiet half hour all 
alone, after his early supper. The tall old hedge, near 
which he walked back and forth while saying his beads, was 
fragrant with clusters of lilacs, purple and white. Against the 
hedge, like a snow-drift, was a mass of bridal wreath in full 
bloom. And in the space between the 
flowering shrubs and the neatly graveled 
path, rows of healthy young plants 
had been set out that very day. 

Father Tim, having reached the 
end of the walk near his vine- 
covered study window, slipped 
his beads into the pocket of 



his cassock and turned to take 
another look down his fa- 
vorite hedge-row path. His 
face was happy; his eyes were 
full of admiration. "And to 
think," he said, "that all of 
this was a tangle of tall grass 
and weeds two weeks ago!" 

"How those lads have worked!" he added. 

You can easily guess who the lads were. Yes,- 




FATHER TIMOTHY 



-the boy 



scouts. The troop had been formed; and the first feat the boys 
undertook was to find a way of getting Father Tim's neglected 
garden into first class condition — as it used to be years ago. 



This was no easy thing to accomplish; for poor, feeble-minded 
Peter Rohan had been gardener these twenty years past, and 
he simply owned the place. No one else — except Father Tim 
himself — might lay hands on stick or stone, grass blade or weed. 

Father Timothy laughed in his hearty way, as he remem- 
bered the story Father Creedon had told him about it. The 
clever boy scouts had invited Peter to meet them on "important 
business" in the young curate's private office. There, with all 
the great ceremony which Peter loved, they got the old gardener 
to sign and seal a big contract by which Peter Patrick Rohan 
kept and retained "the garden" and "the work," while he turned 
over to the boy scouts "the trimmings." 

Now, everybody knew that, according to Peter's notion, 
"the garden and the work" was the lawn. All other parts — 
hedge-rows and shrubbery, flower-beds (if there were any), 
great old trees and grape arbor, even Father Tim's own veg- 
etable garden behind the big house — were all nothing but "the 
trimmings." 

As, year after year, Peter grew more feeble in mind and 
body, "the trimmings" had to be neglected; but the lawn he 
kept in perfect condition — "like a grand piece of green velvet, 
from early spring to winter." 

After Peter had signed his name to the contract with great 
labor, he turned to the boy scouts and said solemnly, "I would 
advise you boys to let the grapes and the vegetables alone. Them 
trimmin's bring healin' to the sick folks of the village, when 
Father Tim tends 'em with his own hands. And," he added 
still more solemly, "KEEP OFF THE GRASS !" 

Father Timothy looked across the beautiful lawn and there, 
way off to the other side, near the opposite hedge-row, was 
Peter down on his knees, digging out "some impident dandies." 

"Good night, Peter!" Father Tim called cheerily. 

"Good night, yer reverence!" came back Peter's respectful 
old voice, as he took off his cap and jumped to his feet. "The 
children'll be lookin' fer ye, Father Tim." 



"So they will, Peter; so they will. Fm starting right off 
now." 

With a few long strides Father Timothy reached the porch. 
There he picked up his big hat and walking stick and, with 
another "Good night, Peter! God bless you!" he disappeared 
behind the house, and made his way to the back gate. 

It was the good pastor's custom to take an evening ramble 
through the village — visiting sometimes one part, sometimes 
another. The people loved to see Father Tim stroll through 
the streets in his cassock; and they seemed to know what streets 
he would choose on particular evenings. In those parts there 
were neighborly gatherings, while other parts were rather de- 
serted. 

This particular evening he chose the by-ways where the 
poorer people lived. They were sitting on their door-steps or 
their tiny front porches, or out on the narrow brick sidewalks. 
Each group rose as the priest approached. He had a kind, 
hearty word for everybody. The children ran to meet him; 
followed him; crowded about him; clung to his hands or to his 
big walking stick. 

Father Timothy was never seen on the street without that 
hawthorn walking stick; though he never used it as a support. 
The people called it his "shepherd's crook"; and Father Tim 
liked to hear them say it. Very often this good shepherd used 
the curved end of his stick to draw a shy child gently toward 
him. Then the mothers looked with grateful eyes; for they 
knew that the priest's hand would be laid in blessing on the 
little head. 

When Father Timothy had finished his ramble through the 
village, deep evening shadows had gathered and the stars were 
peeping out. So he quickened his steps as he turned up the 
country road which led to the Devera home; he had an engage- 
ment to keep there. 

Glancing up, as he entered the back gate and passed through 
the vegetable garden, he saw a light in the room that James 
100 



called his "den." The boy was working hard for high marks 
in the final examinations. 

"Like his father and his grandfather before him," said 
Father Tim to himself. "How many a time I have seen them 
at that desk near the window up there! But this boy James is 
more of a steady, all-year-round worker, — like his mother. Like 
his mother," Father Tim repeated thoughtfully, as he walked 
round to the front porch. 

The door-bell rang. Old Dan appeared in the hall at once 
arid went to the door, giving (as he passed) a sly look and a 
broad smile to someone whom he spied upstairs. 

Of course, little David had been taught not to hang over the 

balustrade when the door-bell rang. But sometimes he did it. 

"Well, well!" came a big hearty voice. "Good evening, 

everybody! God's blessing on you all! Where is the family? 

Where is my little David?" 

"Here I am, Father Tim!" 

"Ah! come here my little white lamb!" As Dan took 
the walking stick and hat, Father Timothy spread out his strong 
arms, and David jumped into them from the stairs. 

"So you are the only one who is expect- 
ing Father Tim, you sly little rascal. And 
Dan, what did you have to do with that tele- 
phoning this afternoon?" 

"I jes' got de numbah, Fadah Tim; like 
I use fo' t' do in de big hotel, befo' I come 
back heah to lib wif young Marse James. 
Li'l Davy, he done de talkin'." 

"And when I heard my little lamb bleat- 
ing," said the pastor, "even if it was over the 
telephone, I just had to come out to take him in my arms." 

"So that is the secret this little innocent has been whisper- 
ing about with Dan." It was Mother who spoke. 

"I just had to tell Father Tim we were going to say our 
parables this evening, Mother dear," David pleaded. 
101 





"We all love your visits, Father; but I am afraid the children 
are too persistent about having you hear those parables," said 
Mother. 

"Well, Anna, as Moira said, it was I who started them on 
this work. Besides, it gives me great pleasure 
to hear them; and I could really take the time 
tonight." 

"Go, David, and tell James and Moira 

they may leave their books now," said Mother. 

"Here is one of my boys," she added, as 

Michael came in from his own little room 

where he, too, had been studying. "And my 

biggest boy has gone to see Ned Gorman." 

"Ned is up and around now," said Father Tim. "Began to 

get well right after our surprise party. He has made fine 

progress in three weeks; has even been to my house doing a 

little work on the electric lights." 

"Uncle James went down to talk with Ned about some 
electrical machine that he is interested in. He said he would 
tell us about it when he returns." While Michael was speaking 
David came bounding down the stairs again with his brother 
and sister. 

"Here are my children!" cried Father Tim heartily. "Well, 
well! Fm glad you can laugh, even with all those examinations 
before you! Perhaps I should have waited another week. Then, 
after you had gained the high marks you are aiming at, you 
would be ready to say your parables for me." 

"We are ready now, Father Tim," said Moira. "We are 
so glad you came. We were going to say our parables for 
Mother, anyway, after we had finished our lessons. You came 
just at the right time." 

The little girl had a very pretty, polite way of saying just 
the right thing. As she stood there on the third step, looking 
much taller than she really was, her white dress hanging so 
gracefully about her, kind old Father Timothy thought of 




another dark-haired Moira Devera with pure, starlike eyes. She 
had stood there, at the foot of those hall-stairs, nearly fifty years 
ago — the most beautiful and the most lovable girl he had ever 
known. That Moira Devera, Grandpa's only sister, is still liv- 
ing, and still conquering hearts for God — a 
missionary Sister way off in India. 

"Well then, my little Miss Moira," 
said Father Tim, as though he were speaking 
to a princess, "will you gladden this old heart 
of mine by saying your parable as prettily as 
you did the last time I was here?" 

"Pardon me, Father Tim," and Moira 
made her prettiest courtesy, "but David's 
parable comes first tonight. I will say mine later." 

Little David was ready; he had been ready all the evening. 
Standing up, just as Michael had taught him to do, he repeated 
Our Divine Lord's Own Story, in the words that St. Luke 
wrote down for us in his gospel. 

Wbt Host g>fjeep 

Now the Publicans and sinners drew near unto Him (the 
Lord Jesus) to hear Him. 

And the Pharisees and the Scribes murmured, saying: This 
man receiveth sinners and eateth with them. 

And He (the Lord Jesus) spoke to them this parable, 
saying : 

What man of you that hath a hundred sheep, if he lose one 
of them, doth he not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and 
go after that which was lost, until he find it? 

And when he hath found it, lay it upon his shoulders rejoic- 
ing: 

And coming home, call together his friends and neighbors, 
saying to them: 

Rejoice with me, because I have found my sheep that was 
lost. 

I say to you, that even so there shall be joy in heaven upon 
one sinner that doth penance, more than upon ninety-nine just 
who need not penance. 

103 




AMEN, I SAY TO YOU, HE REJOICETH MORE FOR THAT, THAN FOR THE 
NINETY-NINE THAT WENT NOT ASTRAY.— St. Matthew xviii. 13. 



When David had finished, Father Tim, sitting in the big 
oak chair, opened his folded hands and, spreading his arms wide, 
said, "Come here, my little white lamb." 

"David," the priest looked steadily into the 
little boy's clear blue eyes, "who is the Good 
Shepherd?" 

"You are the Good Shepherd, Father Tim; 
and the Lord Jesus is the Good Shepherd." 

"Yes, David, the Lord Jesus is the true 

Good Shepherd; and your old Father Tim tries 

to be a Good Shepherd, like his Divine Master." 

"You are a Good Shepherd," David insisted; 

and he climbed on Father Tim's knee. 

"The last time I was here, you said that you 
wanted to be a Good Shepherd, Davy." 

"I do; like Our Lord. And like you, Father 
Tim." 

"I brought two pictures for you, Davy. 
Mother will let you hang them in your own 
See!" The priest drew a package of good size 
out of his pocket — one of those big pockets where the hands 
of his little children often found such nice things stored away 
for them. 

"This is the Lord Jesus," said David, bending over to kiss a 
beautiful picture of the Good Shepherd. "And who is this?" 
David pointed to the other picture. 

"That is a young shepherd boy whose name was David. You 
see, he has saved his little pet lamb from a great lion who wanted 
to eat it up. That shepherd boy was brave and good, and he 
became the king of the Jews." 

"I know," said Davy, "he was Our Lord's own grandfather." 

"O Davy!" said Moira, who had drawn close to Father Tim 

to look at the beautiful pictures. "King David was Our Lord's 

great-great-great-gr^Z-grandfather! You have to think way, 

way back." 




little room. 



"Well, I can't think way, way back. King David and Our 
Lord belonged to the same family, anyway; didn't they, Father 

Tim? Just the way Grandpa 
Devera and I belong to the same 
family." 

"That's right, Davy lad; 
you've got the idea. Now, do 
you like this picture of the shep- 
herd boy who had your own 
name?" 

David looked at the picture 
closely. "Yes, Father Tim, I 
like it. That boy David wasn't 
afraid of the lion; and I'm glad 
he saved the poor little lamb. 
Why is he holding up his arm 
so high?" 

"He is saying that God 
" A shepherd boy whose name was david" made him strong enough and 
brave enough to fight the lion." 

"I like his picture," said David; "but I like this one better." 
He kissed Jesus, the Good Shepherd, and then, throwing an arm 
over the priest's shoulder, said : "Thank you, Father Tim. Now, 
let Michael say something about the Good Shepherd. He knows 
more than I do." 

But James looked as if he had a question to ask. "What is it, 
James?" the priest said. 

"Did Father tell you that he gave me a picture?" 
"Yes, James," said Father Tim; "may I come up to your 
room some time and see it?" 

"That's just what I wanted to ask. I'm waiting to have you 
hang it for me; just as you did when you gave it to Father, long 
ago." 

"And as my own good pastor hung it in my own room, long 
before that. I am sure your father did not tell you, why my 





pastor gave the picture to me. It was for the same reason that 
I gave it to your father. But James, my son, I needed it much 
more than your father did — when my pastor gave it to me." 

"My father did not tell me that. But your 
fig tree has borne plenty of fruit, Father Tim; 
and so Has Father's." James looked at his pastor 
with honest eyes that showed boyish admiration 
and reverence. 

"We shall see, James; we shall see, at the 
great judgment day." 

"Come here, Davy." The little fellow had 
slipped down from Father Tim's knee, and had gone round 
showing his pictures to Mother and Michael and Moira. "What 
was it, Davy, that you wanted Michael to tell?" 

"Father Tim, I said that Michael knows much more about 
the Good Shepherd than I do. Please get him to say it for you." 

"Well, Michael?" 

"The part that I studied, Father Tim," said Michael, "is 
what I found in St. John. It is the only parable in his whole 
gospel." 

"Yes," said Father Tim. "In what part of his gospel did 
you find it?" 

"In Chapter X, I found it. I was reading about a splendid 
miracle in the chapter just before this, when Our Lord gave 
sight to the man born blind. I like that miracle story, because 
the blind man, after he could see, stood up so bravely for Our 
Lord. He had the courage to talk up like a man, when the 
Scribes and Pharisees dared to say that Jesus of Nazareth was 
doing evil and not good. He showed up their meanness and 
jealousy; and then they threw him out of the Temple. 

"But Our Lord heard that they had cast him out, and He 
came and found the brave fellow whom he had cured. Jesus 
told him then that He was the Son of God; and the man fell 
down and adored Him. 

"Some of the Pharisees (they were always hanging round 

107 



trying to pick a quarrel) began to talk again in their ugly way. 
And then Our Lord spoke this beautiful parable of the Good 
Shepherd; not for the sake of the Pharisees (nothing could 
touch their wicked hearts), but for the 
sake of the blind man (who wasn't 
blind any more) and for the sake of the 
other people who had gathered round 
Him in the magnificent porch of the 
Temple." 

"Father Tim," James broke in 
eagerly, "don't you think the blind man 
was pretty clever, in the way he handled 
his case before those judges?" 

"I do," said Father Tim. "His 
parents might well say of him, as they 
did, 'He is of age; let him speak for 
himself.' But now, say the parable, 
Michael; as much of it as you know. 
Some day I shall teach it to you in the 
very language that Jesus spoke/' 
Father Timothy knew the old Jewish 
language very well, and loved it as 
he loved everything that was connected 
with the earthly life of the Lord Jesus. 
^bl^nTmIn^ Michael's dark eyes glowed with 

pleasure and interest. "That would be just splendid of you, 
Father Tim. But I'll say the parable now in plain English as 
well as I can. I leave out some of the more difficult verses, 
Father." 

"Go on, Michael," said Father Tim, with that priestly move- 
ment of his hand by which he seemed to recognize in this boy 
a deacon of the Church. 

And then Michael satisfied the heart of little David, and 
the heart of the good pastor, too, by repeating that most tender 
message which, long years ago, came straight from the Heart 
of Christ. 





DUBSON 

AND OTHER SHEEP I HAVE, THAT ARE NOT OF THIS FOLD; THEM ALSO 
MUST I BRING.— St. John x. 16. 



QDJje parable of tfje (gooti ^>fiepfjerb 

Amen, amen, I say to you: He that entereth not by the door 

into the sheepfold, but climbeth up another way, the same 

is a thief and a robber. 
But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep ; 

to him the porter openeth. 
And the sheep hear his voice; and he calleth his own sheep by 

name, and leadeth them out. 
And when he hath let out his own sheep, he goeth before them; 

and they follow him, because they know his voice. 
But a stranger they follow not; but fly from him, because they 

know not the voice of strangers. 
This parable Jesus spoke to them. But they understood not 

what He was speaking to them. 

Jesus, therefore, said to them again: 

I am the good shepherd. 

The good shepherd giveth his life for his sheep. 

But the hireling, and he that is not the shepherd, 

Whose own the sheep are not, 

Seeth the wolf coming, 

And leaveth the sheep, and flieth. 

And the wolf catcheth and scattereth the sheep. 

I am the good shepherd; 

And I know Mine, and Mine know Me; 

As the Father knoweth Me, 

And I know the Father. 

And I lay down My life for My sheep. 

And other sheep I have, 
That are not of this fold; 
Them also must I bring, 
And they shall hear My voice, 
And there shall be one fold, 
And one shepherd. 




CHAPTER X 



SURPRISES 

WHILE Michael was telling the parable of the Good Shep- 
herd, Moira slipped quietly from her place and, snug- 
gling up to Mother, she whispered, "What is that 
peculiar noise?" 

She had noticed a buzzing, whirring sound that seemed to 
come from the parlor, a room which they seldom used. Its 
closed double-doors stood near the front of the wide hall. 

But Mother put her 
finger on Moira's lips, 
and so the little girl 
turned her attention 
again to Michael. As 
soon as he had finished 
speaking, Moira said, 
"Listen, Mother, that 
buzzing does come out 
from the parlor." 

Just then the big 
sliding doors sprang 
open. There stood Fa- 
ther! "Come in, every- 
body!" he said, "here is 
Ned Gorman! Ned 
thought he would bring 
you a surprise party, as 
a return for the one you brought him, when he was sick." 

Sure enough, there was Ned; still very thin and white, but 
smiling and happy. He stood beside a big machine which he 
and Father had set up in the middle of the long parlor. 




Before the children had recovered from their first surprise, 
Father closed the sliding doors behind them; Ned snapped on 
a beam of light which spread from his machine to the far end 
of the parlor; and there was the real surprise! 

Little David squealed with delight. A whole flock of sheep 
came pushing, crowding, rubbing their wooly backs against 





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one another. David got down on the floor and spread out his 
arms; one little lamb seemed to be heading right toward him! 

Then Moira exclaimed, "Oh! the dear Good Shepherd! the 
dear Lord Jesus!" 

There He was in the midst of His flock, a long staff in 
His hand, a tiny lamb folded in His strong, tender arm; the 
same Good Shepherd that Grandpa Devera had painted among 
the flowering vines in the hall. But here He was walking 

112 



through pastures; His sheep kept on crowding and pushing, 
each trying to get as near to Him as possible. 

Everybody was silent; the picture was so real and so beauti- 
ful. 

You can see the same Good Shepherd on the cover of this 
PARABLE BOOK, and you can imagine how very lovely the moving 
picture must have been. But come, my dear little readers, I 
shall try to make you see these moving pictures just as the 
Devera children saw them, that night in their own long parlor. 

See! There is the Lord Jesus, looking round upon His sheep, 




and now looking out at you, His true little lambs. How 
kind, how tender He is, and how strong! He has one little lamb 
on His arm, and it is very contented there. 

Now the Good Shepherd is leading His flock up a hillside. 
How carefully He looks round again and again! How tenderly 
He helps one little lamb and then another over the rough, 
stony places! How often He turns to call those that are lag- 
ging behind, and how patiently He waits for them! 

At last they come to the sheepfold. This is a sheltered 
place, surrounded by a high stone wall. In the wall is a 

113 



narrow door; and there the Good Shepherd stands, while the 
sheep enter. 

See how He counts them as they pass Him. He looks 
anxious; one seems to be missing. He goes into the sheep- 
fold ; tends to a little sick lamb ; talks to His flock ; pets this sheep 
and gives that one a tap with His staff. Then, leaving the 
ninety-nine safe in the fold, the Good Shepherd locks the door 
and starts out in search of the Lost Sheep. 

It is growing dark, and a storm is coming up. The Good 
Shepherd looks so tired; but down the hill He goes, searching 
eagerly everywhere. Sometimes He puts His hands to His 
mouth and calls His lost sheep by name; then He listens, turning 
this way and that. 

Ah! at last He hears the bleating of His lost sheep. Down 
steep places, over sharp stones 
that bruise His feet, through 
thorny hedges that tear His face 
and hands, the Good Shepherd 
hurries. 

There! He spies it! He 
calls to it tenderly; tells it not 
to be afraid. The naughty, wil- 
ful sheep which strayed away 
from the flock and has given the 
Good Shepherd all this trouble! 
But He has only kind, encourag- 
ing words for it; you can see 
that by the tender look of His 
anxious face, and the eagerness 
with which He pushes through 
the thorns. 

A big, black bird comes 
swooping down, trying to snatch 

TO SAVE HIS DEAR, NAUGHTY LAMB. tllC lamb befo^ the GOOd SlleP" 

herd can reach it. But He bravely attacks the savage bird with 




His rod, and drives it away. The disobedient lamb deserves to 
have a good fright! 

Then a wolf jumps out from behind the rocks. The Good 
Shepherd is weak and tired; but He will do anything to save 
His dear, naughty lamb. He fights the wolf; and this fierce 
enemy is driven away also. 

Kneeling down, He tries to free His poor trembling lamb; 
the brambles have caught its wool so tight that it cannot move. 
The briars tear the Good Shepherd's hands; they are bleeding; 
so is His forehead bleeding. But He does not mind His own 
pain; He wants to save His lamb from suffering. 

At last, He has the poor little thing in His arms. Does He 
punish it for its disobedience? No; He presses it to His Heart 
and comforts it. Then He places it on His shoulders; and, tired 
and footsore as He is, He hurries through the beating storm. 
Over the rough stony places, through the briars, He takes the 
shortest way back to the sheepfold on the hill, where He left 
the ninety-nine, safe and warm. 

"Well!" said Moira, when the pictures stopped, "I hope that 
silly little lamb learned its lesson. I hope it will never, never 
give the Good Shepherd all that trouble again." 

"Poor little lamb," said David; "it didn't know any better." 

"It should have known enough to be obedient," said James. 
"It should have followed the Good Shepherd — the way all the 
sensible ones did. It had no business to stray away from the 
flock." 

"But I'm glad the Good Shepherd found it," said Michael. 
"Just suppose that fierce wolf had eaten it up!" 

"Bizzz!-z-z-z-z-z!" went the machine. The pictures were 
starting again. 

"Now, Moira," Father called out, "here is something for 
you." 

A lady appears. She wears long, flowing white garments of 



rich material. She is dressed for a feast. The folds of her 
graceful veil are bound by delicate chains, all glittering with 
jewels and pendants. 

Her father, a kind old man, comes toward her and gives her 
a present. Perhaps it is her birthday. The lady takes the gift. 
It is a necklace; ten shining coins hang from the jeweled chain. 
She fastens it round her neck; and as she does so, her garments, 
from head to foot, seem to become more beautiful, more white 
and shining. The gift must be something precious, something 
wonderful, to have that effect. 

The lady appears again. She is weeping. She wears a dark, 
shabby dress. All her beauty is gone. She has the necklace in 
her hand. One coin is missing; it must be the precious one, the 
one which made her look so pure and lovely. 

"O Father!" Moira exclaims. "I think this is my PARABLE 
of the Lost Groat/' 

"Are you recognizing it only now?" Father asks. 

"But I thought the groat was a little coin that the woman 
kept in her purse. I don't quite understand." 

The pictures move rapidly, and Moira begins to understand 
better just what it all means. 

See! The woman is searching the house for her lost treasure. 
Then she goes out into the streets, and good friends help her 
there in the search. 

It is growing dark. The woman comes into her home again. 
She kneels and prays. Then she lights a candle, takes a broom, 
and sweeps every corner. 

"Now, Moira," says Father, "while the woman searches her 
house with the candle and the broom, will you please tell the 
story?" 

And so Moira repeats the parable, just as Our Lord told 
it to the Pharisees and Scribes, after He had told the parable 
of the Lost Sheep. 

116 




LIGHT A CANDLE, AND SWEEP THE HOUSE, AND SEARCH 
DILIGENTLY.— St. Luke xv. 8. 



W%t ICogt (groat 

Or what woman having ten groats, if she lose one groat, 
doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and search dili- 
gently till she find it? 

And when she hath found it, call together her friends and 
neighbors, saying: 

Rejoice with me, because I have found the groat which I had 
lost. 

So I say to you, there shall be joy before the angels of 
God, upon one sinner doing penance. 

All this while, the woman, with her candle and broom, con- 
tinues to search every nook and corner of her house. 

"There!" (David claps his hands.) "She found it!" 

Sure enough, she has the precious silver piece safe between 
her fingers. 

"Now" (Moira explains), "she will call in her friends and 
neighbors to rejoice with her." 

They all come trooping in. 

The lady's father comes, too. He fastens the coin securely 
on the chain; he clasps the chain round his daughter's neck. 

"Oh-h-h-h!" Everybody is delighted! There stands the 
woman again in shining white robes; she looks more beautiful 
than ever, and oh, so happy! 

She kneels down to pray; and then a pathway of light seems 
to lead straight up to Heaven. There are the angels, troops of 
them; they are singing and playing their harps; some dear little 
cherubs are casting down roses upon the woman in her shining 
white robes. 

"Father," said Moira, when the beautiful sight had melted 
away, "it was a lovely, lovely picture. But really, Father, I 
don't understand exactly how it fits my parable." 

"You explain it to her, Father Tim; will you, please?" 
The priest had been sitting with Ned Gorman at the moving- 
picture machine, observing how he managed it. 



Father Tim turned to Moira and said, "My child, when you 
were born, your Heavenly Father gave you many precious gifts, 
a whole chain of precious gifts: life and health, beauty and 
talents, a good home, a devoted mother." 

"And a darling father," said Moira, "and James, and 
Michael, and afterwards David and Buddy, and, of course, you, 
Father Tim; and oh! ever, ever so many blessings." 

"Well, Moira, the very greatest of all God's gifts came to 
you when you were baptized. What did your Heavenly Father 
give you then?" 

"He gave me sanctifying grace" said Moira. "Oh! I see 
now! That is why the woman's garments became so pure and 
shining when her father clasped the chain round her neck. And 
that was what she lost. O Father Tim, wasn't it dreadful? She 
must have committed a mortal sin. That is the only way we lose 
sanctifying grace." 

"We must all remember the lesson, Moira child," said Father 
Tim. 

"O Father," said Moira, "I hope I shall never, never lose it!" 

"Bress yo' w'yte soul ! Ma li'l angel !" The voice came from 
a dark corner near the library door. 

"O Susan, I'm so glad you are here! And Dan, too!" 

Father snapped on the electric lights. 

"Why, hello, boys!" said James, as he spied the Huber 
brothers. "How quiet you kept all the while, back in that 
corner!" 

"We had to be quiet when we helped to bring in the machine 
and set it up ; so we just kept on being quiet. The pictures are 
finer than we ever saw at any movie place." 

"Bizzz!-z-z-z-z!" went the machine again. 

"O Father," said Moira, "please wait a little while." Then 
she whispered to Mother, "May I go up stairs and stay with 
Baby, and let Lyda come down to see the next picture?" 

"Come, dear, we'll both go and get Lyda." 

When Mother and Moira slipped into the front hall, it was 

119 



dark; but there was a 
flood of light on the 
wide stairway. It 
streamed from the 
shining archangel, 
who stood in the win- 
dow amongthe palms; 
an electric lamp hung 
outside. There on the stairway, under the 
Guardian Angel, Mother stopped. She drew 
from the folds of her dress a long gold chain 
and a large medal. "Now, it is yours!" she 
said, clasping it round Moira's neck. 

"O Mother, your own beautiful medal 
of the Immaculate Conception! 1 ' 

"I have another — my silver sodality 
medal. It is precious also, though not as 
precious as the one I give to you. My own 
dear mother gave me this one when I was 
a young girl." 

"How good you are to let me have it!" 
Moira gave Mother a hug and a kiss. 
"I meant to give it to you at your next birthday, Moira; but 
this seems to be a suitable occasion. Now listen, dear, and I 
shall tell you what my own mother said when she clasped that 
medal round my neck. I can hear her voice even now: 'Anna, 
I place you under the protection of the Immaculate Virgin 
Mary; and I pray that, if ever you are in danger of losing your 
soul's precious gift of sanctifying grace, God may take you out 
of this world while you are still innocent and pure!' 

"Moira," Mother continued, "I say that same prayer every 
day for you." 

"And now I shall say it, too, Mother dear; every morning 
and every night, when I kiss this medal of Our Lady. You know, 
Mother dear, that I always ask our Blessed Lady to keep my 

120 





"I LOVE TO THINK OF OUR BLESSED LADY AS A LITTLE GIRL, 
AND I ASK HER TO KEEP MY SOUL PURE." 



soul white and pure. I love to think of her as a little girl. I 
wish I could be like her, Mother dear." 

"You are like her, Moira," said Mother, kissing the little 
girl on her pure forehead. 

And then the two, hand in hand, went up the stairs, in the 
beautiful light that streamed through the angel's outspread 
wings. 




CHAPTER XI 

YOUR FATHER AND MY FATHER 

COME, Lyda, hurry!" James was calling from the lower 
hall. 

Mother had insisted, in her quiet way, that both 
Moira and Lyda should go down to see the pictures, while she 
alone remained with Baby in the nursery. 




"We're coming!" Moira answered, tripping down the stairs 
and waving her arm to Lyda, who was not so light of foot. 



Just as they entered the parlor, the picture-machine, having 
waited for them quite a long time, gave a particularly snappy 
"Bizz!-z-z! Bizz!-z-z!" 

"Land's sakes!" Lyda exclaimed. "It do beat all!" 
There, at the far end of the parlor, was a fine, sunny pasture; 
cows were moving about and munching the grass. Then ap- 
peared hillsides, where flocks of sheep and herds of goats were 
moving along, under the care of their shepherds, and watch- 
dogs, and mounted herdsmen. 




Next came crowds of laborers who went out to the fields of 
waving grain and began to gather the harvest. 

"A fine, big farm!" said Michael. 

"The owner must be tremendously rich," said James. "And 
tremendously industrious," Father added, "for his big farm is 
kept in thriving condition." 

"Ah!" said Moira, "here is the farm-house! What a beau- 
tiful place!" 

124 



"And there comes the owner," said Father, "a splendid old 
gentleman in his long, rich cloak. Now he is mounting the 
stairs to the house top, so that he can get a good view of his 
fields." 

"Oh!" exclaimed Moira, "the roof-garden is lovely. But 
what does it all represent, Father? Is this another parable?" 

"Wait a while, Moira; James will tell you." 

Now come, my dear little readers, you shall see this film 
also, just as Moira and the other children saw it. 

Look! A young man climbs the stairway to the roof-garden. 
He has a rake over his shoulder. He has been working hard 
out in the fields ; but he seems to be the son of the house. He 
goes toward the old gentleman. 

While these two are talking earnestly, a handsome young 
fellow on horse back dashes up toward the house. He calls for 
a servant, gives his orders, pulls off his rich cloak, and, mounting 
the stairs gracefully, throws himself down on a bench in the 
shade of some oleander trees which adorn the roof-garden. 

The hard-working brother strides over to him, points to his 
rake, then out to the fields; but the handsome, lazy boy laughs, 
and turns over to take a nap. 

"Oh!" says Moira, "I think I understand it now. Hurry, 
James, and tell us." 

Another scene begins to appear. The old gentleman is 
seated in his private office. Stacks of gold pieces are piled up 
before him on the table. Servants come in, bringing more 
and more money. 

The handsome boy enters. The father greets him affec- 
tionately. The boy asks his father for money. The father gives 
him several gold pieces, then speaks kindly and earnestly to him. 
The boy looks discontented. 

"Now, James, begin !" Father gives the quick command. 

125 




THE YOUNGER SOX, GATHERING ALL TOGETHER, WENT ABROAD [NTO A FAR 

COUNTRY, AND THERE WASTED HIS SUBSTANCE, LIVING 

RIOTOUSLY.— St. Luke xv. 13. 



"Say it well, son," Father Tim adds. "Remember that this 
is the most precious 'pearl' of all Our DIVINE Lord's Own 
STORIES. It is a gospel in itself; the gospel of His Heavenly 
Father's great personal love for each one of us — sinners though 
we are." 

So while the pictures move on, showing every scene and every 
action, James tells (in such simple words that even little David 
can understand it all) this third parable which Jesus spoke to 
the Pharisees and Scribes, that time when they found fault with 
Him for being kind to Publicans and sinners. Those hard- 
hearted, jealous Pharisees might have failed to understand the 
parable of the Lost Sheep and of the Lost Groat; but they could 
not possibly misunderstand this story. 




Zi)t parable of tfje ^rootgal ££>on 

And Jesus said: A certain man had two sons; 

And the younger of them said to his father: Father, give me 
the portion of thy wealth that falleth to me. (The young 
fellow had no right to make such a demand.) 

And he (the father) divided unto his sons his wealth. 

And not many days after, the younger son, gathering all to- 
gether, went abroad into a far country, and there wasted 
his wealth in riotous living (which means, in having what he 
thought to be a fine time). 

127 




FATHER, I HAVE SINNED AGAINST HEAVEN, AND BEFORE THEE; I AM NOT NOW 
WORTHY TO BE CALLED' THY SON.— St Luke xv. 21. 



And after he had spent all, there came a mighty famine in that 

country, and he began to be in want (that is, he had neither 

money, nor friends, nor food, nor a trade by which to earn 

a living). 
And he went and became the servant of one of the citizens 

of that country. And he sent him into his farm to feed 

swine. 
And he (the fine young runaway) would have been glad to fill 

his belly with the husks the swine did eat; and no man 

gave unto him. 
And thinking in his heart, he said : How many servants in my 

father's house have plenty of bread, and I here perish with 

hunger ! 
I will arise, and will go to my father, and say to him: Father, 

I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee; I am not 

worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired 

servants. 
And rising up, he went to his father. 
And when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and 

was moved with pity; and, running to him, fell upon his 

neck, and kissed him. 
And the son said to him : Father, I have sinned against Heaven, 

and before thee ; I am not now worthy to be called thy son. 
But the father said to his servants : Bring forth quickly the best 

robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and 

shoes on his feet; 
And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat and 

make merry; 
Because this my son was dead, and is come to life again; he 

was lost, and is found. 
And they began to be merry. 

"Oh, look at his little dog!" David cries. "How he is jump- 
ing around and barking for gladness! If Towzer were here he 
would bark, too." 

"There is the boy's mother," says Moira. "Poor, dear lady! 
How happy she must feel to get her son back again!" 

"Here come the servants," says Father Tim, "bringing all 
the things the father ordered. The boy is down on his knees 
again, to repeat that he is unworthy of such loving kindness." 



"Please, tell us the meaning of these things, Father Tim." 

That is Michael's voice. 

Father Tim ex- 
plains: "The father 
orders shoes to be 
put on the boy's feet 
to show that he takes 
him back as a son, 
not as a hired serv- 
ant. In those days, 
servants did not wear 
shoes. He clothes 
him in the best robe, 
to prove that, even 
though the reckless 
spendthrift returns 
home as poor as a 
beggar, his good fa- 
ther receives him as 
an honored guest. 
He places on the 
boy's hand his own 
precious seal ring, 

the pledge that this unfaithful son will be trusted again as one 

trusts a true friend." 

And Father Tim adds: "All of this our Heavenly Father 

does when He receives back a penitent sinner." 

The pictures stop ; but no one speaks. Every heart is touched 

by the beautiful story. All feel themselves drawn closer to the 

good God, of whom the Lord Jesus said, He is Your Father 

and My Father. 





Now comes the second part of the story, the part in which 
Our Lord shows us that His Heavenly Father is grieved when 
we do not receive penitent sinners lovingly and gladly; as He 
receives them. 

The moving pictures present the whole scene before our 
eyes again. 

The fatted calf having been killed and roasted, a great feast 
is quickly prepared. Servants run hither and thither, carrying 
fruit and cake, and all the good things that the half-starved boy 
has not seen for a long, long time. 

Now he sits between his father and mother at a richly laden 
table; his sisters are as kind as ever; the servants show him 
respect, because his father wishes it. 

As these scenes pass before the eyes of the Devera children, 
they join in the merry-making over the prodigal's return, wish- 
ing, perhaps, they might have a share in the good things that 
are served in such abundance. 

Then Father says : "Go on with the story, son." And James 
continues the parable. 

Cfje €ltier g>on 

And his elder son was out in the field. 

And when he came, and drew nigh to the house, he heard 
music and dancing. 

And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things 
meant. 

And the servant said to him: Thy brother is come, and thy 
father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received 
him safe. 

And he (the jealous elder son) was angry, and would not 
go in. 

His father, therefore, coming out, began to entreat him (that 
is, he coaxed the sulky fellow). 

And he, answering, said to his father: Behold, for so many 
years I serve thee, and I have never transgressed thy com- 
mandments ("Which I doubt," put in Father Tim), and 
yet thou hast never given me even a kid to make merry 

131 



with my friends. (Father Tim muttered again, "The 

fellow was probably too selfish ever to want to share any- 
thing with his friends.") 

But, as soon as this thy son (he does not even say "my broth- 
er") returns, after he has wasted his wealth (among sin- 
ners) thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. 

But he (the father) said to him: Son, thou art always with 
me; and all I have is thine. (He wants the selfish fellow to 
know that he is not going to lose anything, now that his 
younger brother has come home again. ) 

But it was fitting (the father said kindly) that we should make 
merry and be glad; 

For this thy brother was dead, and is come to life again; he was 
lost, and is found. 

That was all. Jesus, when He told the story, did not say 
how it ended. 

"Oh!" said David. "Didn't the big brother go in to the 
feast?" 

"What I am anxious to know," said Ned Gorman "is whether 
that young runaway proved himself worthy of such a good 
father." 

"That is where the parable falls short," said Father Tim. 
"Even Our Lord himself could not show, by human stories, 
the boundless love of God, which receives sinners back again 
and again ; just as the father in this parable received his wayward 
son once. But," Father Tim added earnestly, "there comes at 
last a limit, even to the mercy of our kind Heavenly Father." 

"I hope some of the Scribes and Pharisees profited by that 
beautiful story," said Michael. 

"Father," David whispered, "I know a story about a Phari- 
see. I wish I could tell a parable while the pictures are going; 
the way James did, and Moira." 

"What parable does Davy know?" Ned asked ; for, of course, 
everybody heard David's whispers. 

Michael said, "I have been trying to teach him the one 
about the Pharisee and the Publican. He knows it pretty well." 

132 



"Just the one I've got here!" Ned was delighted to have a 
chance to please little David. 

So Ned showed a picture of the splendid courts of the 
Temple, with all the rows of marble pillars and the grand gates 
and the long flights of marble stairs; and with crowds of people 
coming and going. The Lord Jesus was there, too, and His 
disciples, walking back and forth between the great marble 
columns. 

Look! A proud Pharisee comes along, goes up the marble 
steps to the inner court; up, up, as close as he can get to the 
sanctuary. After him comes a poor Publican, humble and 
ashamed. 

"Now!" says Michael. And he helps little David tell the 
parable. 

GTJje -pfmrteee anfci tfje publican 

Jesus spoke also this parable to some who trusted in them- 
selves as just, and despised others: 

Two men went up into the temple to pray, the one a 
Pharisee, and the other a Publican. 

The Pharisee standing prayed thus with himself: 

God, I give Thee thanks that I am not as the rest of men 
(those who steal, and act unjustly, and do wicked things), as 
also is this Publican. 

1 fast twice in the week; I give a tenth part of all that I 
possess. 

And the Publican, afar off, would not so much as lift his 
eyes towards Heaven; but struck his breast, saying: 

O God, be merciful to me, a sinner. 

(And Jesus said to the people) I say to you, this man went 
down into his house justified (pleasing to God) rather than the 
other (the Pharisee) ; 

Because every one that exalteth himself shall be humbled; 
and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted. 

"God did not like that proud, puffed-out Pharisee," said 
David; "he did good deeds just to have people praise him. 

133 




AND THE PUBLICAN 



DORE 

. . . STRUCK HIS BREAST, SAYING: O GOD, BE MERCIFUL 

TO ME. A SINNER.— St. Luke xviii. u. 



The Publican did bad deeds; but he told God he was sorry, 
and God forgave him his sins and loved him." 

"Oh! there's Mother!" the little speaker said, as Father 
snapped on the electric lights again. "Did you see the picture 
of the Pharisee, Mother, and did you hear me say my parable?" 

"Yes, Davy dear; Lyda came up to get me just in time." 
Mother walked over to the picture-machine and said to Ned 
Gorman, "We thank you, Ned. But I am afraid you have done 
too much for a sick man, out of bed only a week." 

Ned stood there, tall and very thin, but looking so happy 
that you would never guess he had been sick and all discouraged 
only a short time ago. 

"I have enjoyed it, Mrs. Devera. And this is my line of 
work now; you know that your husband arranged it for me. 
I'll keep at it till I get strong enough to go back to the old job. 
Betty and I can never be grateful enough to him and to you." 

"You must bring Betty and the children out the next time 
we have moving pictures." 

"Anna," said Father Tim, "I've been telling Ned that I 
shall set up one of these machines in the Sunday school." 

"And I've been thinking, that I would invite my Sunday- 
school class out here next week; that is, if you would care to 
have the children come, Father Tim." 

"Would I?" said Father Tim heartily. "Anna, that is just 
like you." 

"It would be something like the old days," said Mother, 
looking round the big parlor. The brilliant chandeliers, 
handsome pictures, heavy draperies at the windows — all this 
gave the room a rich appearance. But the floor, the couches 
and chairs, even the tables and the grand piano, were hidden 
under linen coverings which showed that this large parlor was 
seldom used. 

"You mean, Anna, the old days before you were born — the 
days when this room was a chapel for the village folk and the 




farmers round about." Father Timothy's eyes were full of 
memories of his boyhood. 

"Many a time," he said thoughtfully, "I knelt, a restless 
little fellow, in precisely this spot where I stand now, a gray- 
haired priest. Who would have thought it?" 

"And there," he pointed to the far end of the parlor where 
the pictures had been passing before them, "there our Divine 
Lord himself rested upon the altar, and 
raised His hands to bless us. Those bene- 
dictions have penetrated every corner of 
this house, Anna; it is a holy place." 

Thoughtful, silent, the old priest stood. 
His clear blue eyes, so full of lifelong 
memories, and yet so childlike in their 
purity, gazed now at one spot, now at 
another. The long parlor was, to him, a 
chapel — as in the days of old. 

"There," he said, "George Howard His eyes were full 

. OF MEMORIES. 

used to kneel; that is, when he was not 
serving at the altar; and George served oftener than any of us 
did. A splendid boy he was; we all acknowledged him as leader 
in everything. He surely had the 'five talents,' while I had but 
one or two. What glorious work he might have done for Christ!" 

Then, turning to the quiet little woman at his side, Father 
Timothy added, "Anna, I sometimes think God gave me the 
vocation that George Howard threw away. When we two were 
boys together, nothing seemed more unlikely than my call to 
the priesthood. But as to George — talented, handsome, gifted 
in every way, and a remarkably good boy withal — why, there 
was something about the boy which made even his comrades 
feel that he was destined for a great and noble work. George 
was marked by God for His own divine service; and he knew 
it. What splendid service he could have given!" 

The priest was silent again, and Mother said quietly, 
"Grandpa Devera sometimes spoke of George Howard, espe- 

136 



cially after you and he returned from your last visit to the 
Holy Land." 

"Yes; we met George in Italy that time. He was a rich 
man. He had succeeded in business. But in everything except 
the making of money, his life had been a failure. Poor George! 
Pray for him, Anna. He has been in my mind often here of 
late. Put him into the prayers of those innocent children." 
Father Timothy pointed to the group around Ned Gorman 
and the picture-machine. 

Michael had left one of his crutches beside 
the chair next to which Father Timothy was 
standing. Gently, he laid a hand on it (as if 
he were touching the boy himself) and then 
said to Mother, "Does Michael ever speak to 
you about his desire to become a priest?" 

"Never. His father, you know, has for- 
bidden him to mention the subject. But," she 
added reverently, "I feel that God has chosen him." 

Ned was putting another reel into the machine. 

"No more tonight, Ned!" Mother called to him. "You are 
doing too much, I fear; and besides, it is time, you know, for 
these children to be in bed." 

"Just this short film, Mrs. Devera. It will take only a few 
minutes. And Father Tim promised me, a while ago, that he 
would tell the story as I reel it off." 

Mother gave her consent; and so they had this last lovely 
story that evening so full of surprises. 





Come, dear little readers, and look at the charming scenes. 
We are out-of-doors in Palestine. 

The Lord Jesus and His disciples are wending their way 
to Jerusalem. Crowds soon gather about Our Lord on the road, 
and they all move on together, like a great procession. 

They come to the palm groves near the city of Jericho; the 
same place that Father described the other night when he was 
telling the big boys the story of The GOOD SAMARITAN. 

Again and again, people push through the crowd to lay their 
sick ones before the Master, that He may touch them, and heal 
them. Now, a man on crutches stands in the middle of the road, 
imploring help. Jesus speaks to him. The cripple drops his 
crutches, kneels down to adore Our Lord, and then jumps up 
perfectly strong and straight. Leaping and running, he goes be- 
fore Our Lord in the way. 

A blind man is cured also. As the veil of perpetual dark- 
ness falls from those eyes that have seen nothing at all for many, 
many years, the man tries to hug the beautiful sunlight to his 
heart. Then he stretches both arms towards the lovely blue 
v sky; and the gratitude in those eyes, to which Jesus 

- jMJ fte^ nas restored sight, is a prayer of praise. 

The Apostles are getting anxious. 
They will never get to 
Jerusalem if the peo- 
ple keep crowd- 
ggg^ ing about the 
% Master like this, 
and causing the 
procession to 
halt so many 
times. 

Now, they 
are near some 
little houses 
among the palm 







trees. Mothers are waiting there with little children, all fresh 
and clean. The children have flowers to give to Jesus. They 
try to get through the crowd. The disciples tell them sharply 
to go away; the Master is too tired; the Master must hurry on 
to Jerusalem. 

But Jesus himself has seen the mothers and the little chil- 
dren. He stops; He rebukes the disciples; He is not pleased 
with them; He orders the crowd to move aside and make space. 
And Jesus calls out most tenderly, 

Permit the little children to come unto Me, 

And forbid them not; 

For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Then Jesus sits down by the roadside; the mothers bring 
their little ones. Jesus embraces them, lays His hands on them, 
and blesses them. He speaks to them so affectionately. The 
children come up close to Him (love in their innocent eyes) and 
give Jesus the posies they have gathered for Him; wilted posies, 
to be sure, held tight all this long while in moist little fingers; 
but posies that are very, very precious to Jesus, because the 
love of each innocent heart goes with the handful of flowers. 

After this, the dear Lord Jesus, comforted and refreshed by 
His meeting with the little white lambs of His flock, rises and 
moves on again with the great, pressing crowd. 

But, turning to bless His little children once more, as they 
call after Him their loving good-bye, He says to the disciples 
round about Him : 

Amen, I say to you, 

Whosoever shall not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child, 
Shall not enter into it. 

And so, that lovely picture, Jesus blessing little children, 
was the last picture the Devera household saw that evening. 

A flashlight, just outside the parlor windows, showed that 
Father was there in the automobile. "Come along, Ned," he 
called. "I promised Betty to bring her sick man home early. 
And Father Tim, we know that you don't like this mode of 
travel ; but won't you ride with us tonight, in Ned's honor?" 

139 




THEN WERE LITTLE CHILDREN PRESENTED TO HIM, 
LAY HIS HANDS UPON THEM, AND PRAY.— St. M: 



B. PLOCKHORST 
' 111- MIGHT 



Father Timothy, in saying good-night, laid his hand on each 
head in blessing; but he had a special word for Moira alone. 

"My child," he said, "when I was out here one lovely day 
in spring (the day you told the story of the MIRACLE AT THE 
WEDDING Feast) you were asking Our Blessed Lady to get a 
certain favor for you before the appointed time. Do you re- 
member?" 

"Indeed I do, Father Tim." 
"Are you still asking for it?" 
"I ask it every time I go to Holy Communion." 
"Well, Moira child, there are two lovely feasts of Our Lady 
coming: one in August and one in September. Which of these 
would you choose for little David's First Communion Day?" 

"O Father!" Moira exclaimed, her eyes glowing with de- 
light, "do you really, really mean it?" 
"I do." 

"Mother !" Moira called, "please come ! You will let Mother 
choose for me ; won't you, Father Tim?" 

So the happy little girl whispered the 
secret to Mother. "Now, which would you 
choose, Mother dear?" she asked. 

"I would choose Our Lady's Birthday. It 
is the eighth of September; and that is 
Michael's birthday, too." 
"Lovely!" said Moira. 
"Just the right thing, Anna," said Father 
lady's birthday." Timothy. "Now, Moira, keep the secret for 
a while. I am not going to tell David just yet." 

"Good night! God bless you all!" the pastor repeated, as he 
got into the auto beside Ned. "And God be with you!" 

"Good night, Father Tim!" came hearty echoes in every 
tone, from little David's high treble to old Dan's deep bass. 
"Good-bye!" 

And "Good-bye," you know, is just our short, everyday way 
of saying, "God Be with You!" 




"Brrr-r-r-r! Whizzz-z-z-zl" The automobile, with pent-up 
force released, went speeding down the driveway, casting long 
shafts of light ahead of it to pierce the night shadows under the 
tall maple trees that stood on guard like tireless sentinels. 

Then Mother, with David and Moira, James and Michael, 
the Huber boys, and faithful Susan and old Dan, went into the 
hall. And there, on the stairway above them, stood another tire- 
less sentinel — the archangel, strong and pure, with shining wings 
outspread, with protecting shield extended over this happy fam- 
ily, and with unceasing prayer rising ever on high, "God KEEP 
You!" 





CHAPTER XII 

MORE PARABLES 

"It /TOTHERANNA, would you have time to look at this?" 

I V|_ The cheerful boyish voice came from one of the 

library windows. 

This was a large thick copy-book in stiff brown covers. A 

long arm in a blue shirt sleeve held out the book. The sleeve 

was rolled back to the elbow; the arm had been doing steady 

work, and the weather, that July afternoon, 

was intensely hot. 

Mother looked up at the boy in the win- 
dow. She was sitting alone under a great 
old elm tree. At her feet was the sewing 
basket (it followed her everywhere) and in 
her hands a piece of the endless weekly 
mending. 

In the shade of the great elm tree, the boys had "fixed up" 
a little outdoor parlor for Mother. A few wicker chairs, a foot- 
stool, a table, were the furnishings; but just at the edge of the 
"parlor carpet" (which was woven of leafy shadows and golden 
sunlight) stood a large ancient rockery covered with plants. In 
the midst of this rockery the boys had successfully placed a 
fountain. It shot way up into the sunlight, and there it played 
with a pink celluloid ball which the force of the rising water 
kept in the air. When tired of play, the sparkling streamlets 
tumbled down amid the rocks and trailing vines, or splashed 
into a stone basin where a colony of gold fish sported about. 
Back and forth they darted, flaunting their long filmy tails at 
the continual downpour of crystal water-drops with which the 
laughing, gurgling fountain pelted them. 

Sometimes the fountain tossed a spray as far as Mother's 



THERE WAS MOTHER. 



chair. It did so just at this moment. The drops sparkled 
like diamonds in her glossy brown hair. A little shower had 
fallen also on her sewing. Mother laughed; it was like the 
sound of the fountain splashing into the basin. 

Michael laughed too, and called again from the window, 
"May I come out to your parlor, Motheranna? It looks as if 
our little fountain is trying, at least, to keep that place cool this 
hot afternoon." 

"Come," said Mother; and she drew a chair close to her own. 

In another moment, Michael was out of doors. He had only 
one crutch; and this he used so cleverly that it seemed to be a 
wing, made for helping him to take long light leaps over the 
sunny lawn. 

He dropped into the chair beside Mother. He did it slowly, 
and not without pain. But, opening the copy-book which he 
had brought with him, the boy smiled in that winning way of 
his and said, "I think you will be sorry you did not do all the 
writing yourself, Motheranna. This big scrawl of mine is fill- 
ing up our book too soon." 

"It is very neat firm writing, Michael; very much like your 
father's. And I used to tell him (long ago when he was at mili- 
tary school) that his written pages looked like a company of 
well-drilled soldiers." 

Michael was pleased. He loved his soldier father and ad- 
mired everything that he did. 

"But, Motheranna, if all of the parables in our book were 
in your fine penmanship, like the PARABLE OF THE SOWER, we 
would have plenty of pages left." 

"Indeed," said Mother (and there was another of her rare 
laughs) "we would surely have plenty of pages left, but very 
few parables in the book. Where could I have found time, 
Michael, to do all that you have done? Come, let us count 
how many parables we have here." 

You children who are reading this story have guessed, of 
course, that the book was just the same PARABLE BOOK which 

144 



Moira told Father Tim about, on a certain afternoon in May 
when we found her in the cool green hall. By this time in 
July, it contained, not only all of the parables which I have set 
down for you in the foregoing chapters, but a good many more. 

As Mother turned over the pages, she smiled each time she 
saw the words, "For David," written in the margin. Nearly all 
of the very short parables were marked that way. 

"But here is a mistake," said Mother. The words, "For 
David," appeared next to the story of The LABORERS IN THE 
Vineyard, which is quite long. 

"Davy begged to have that one, Motheranna; and he is 
really learning it very easily. He is wonderful at getting things 
by heart when he takes to them; that is, when he 
likes them. Even if he cannot understand every 
word in a story, he gets the true sense of it all; 
indeed, he gets it better than many an older person 
could." 

"Yes," said Mother thoughtfully.. "We are all 
have that one." mat wa y w hen we study the words of God with a 
good heart. You know what Our Lord said in the PARABLE OF 
THE Sower, about the seed that 'fell upon good and very good 
ground.' I hope it will be that way with all the parables you 
young people are studying so diligently." 

"I told Uncle James," said Michael, "that a few of the 
parables were not at all clear to me. And he said we must 
remember that some of these stories were meant specially for 
the people to whom Our Lord was speaking at that time — the 
Jews, and particularly those Jews who would not accept Him 
as the promised Messiah." 

"Yes, Michael," said Mother. "But we always have the 
teaching of Our Lord's Church to guide us. I think I shall 
be old and gray," she added with a smile, "before I understand 
all that is in the parables; but, nevertheless, in every one of those 
divine stories I find something which Our Lord seems to say to 
my own heart; something that helps me to know Him better; 

145 




something that makes me try to live as He wishes me to live." 

"Yes," said Michael, "it is just like that; only I would not 
know how to say it the way you do. When you do speak, 
Motheranna, you put something worthwhile into your words." 

Mother laughed at the boyish compliment, and said, "You 
are getting to be very much like your father, Michael." Then, 
opening the PARABLE BOOK again, and pointing to one of 
the last pages Michael had written, she asked, "Do you think 
that this is one of the stories which Our Lord meant for the Jews 
more than for us?" 

"No, indeed," said the boy, "Our Lord meant that one for all 
people of all times. Surely we all need it." 

"Read the parable aloud, Michael." And Mother drew 
from her sewing basket a copy of the New Testament. This 
she opened at St. Matthew's Gospel, Chapter XVIII, and, put- 
ting her finger on Verse 21, she followed the text closely, while 
Michael read what he had written in The Parable BOOK. 



tZTfje Unmerciful g>eruant 

Then came Peter unto Him (the Lord Jesus) and said: 

Lord, how often shall my brother offend against me, and I 
forgive him? Till seven times? 

Jesus said to him: I say not to thee, till seven times, but 
till seventy times seven times. 

Therefore is the kingdom of Heaven likened to a king who 
would take an account of his servants. And when he had begun 
to take the account, one was brought to him that owed him 
ten thousand talents. (A talent was a sum of money that 
amounted to about two thousand dollars; so the servant owed 
nearly twenty million dollars; and, in Our Lord's time, that 
was a most tremendous amount of wealth.) 

And as he (the servant) had not wherewith to pay the debt, 
his lord commanded that he should be sold, and his wife and 
children, and all that he had, and payment to be made. (That 
was the usual way of treating debtors in ancient days, and the 
people who listened to Jesus knew it was so.) 
146 



But that servant, falling down, besought his lord, saying: 
Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 

And the lord of that servant, being moved to pity, let him 
go, and forgave him the debt. (It was a tremendous act of 
mercy. Jesus wanted to show us how generous His Father is 
in pardoning great sinners.) 

But when that servant was gone out, he found one of his 
fellow servants that owed him a hundred pence. (The Roman 
silver penny was, at that time, equal to a man's wages for a 
day.) 




SILVER PENNY 

And laying hold of him, he throttled him (choked him) 
saying: 

Pay what thou owest. 

And his fellow servant, falling down, besought him, saying: 

Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 

And he would not ; but went and cast him into prison, till he 
paid all the debt. (Michael could not help saying, in his boyish 
way, "I call that low down mean.") 

Now his fellow servants, seeing what was done, were very 
much grieved; and they came and told their lord all that was 
done. 

Then his lord called him, and said to him: Thou wicked 
servant, I forgave thee all the debt, because thou besoughtest 
me. Shouldst not thou then have had compassion on thy 
fellow servant, even as I had compassion on thee? 

And his lord, being angry, delivered him to the torturers 
until he paid all the debt. 

So also (the Lord Jesus said) shall My heavenly Father do 
to you, if you forgive not every one his brother from your 
heart. 

And it came to pass, when Jesus had ended these words, He 
departed from Galilee, and came into the coasts of Judea 
beyond the Jordan. 

And great multitudes followed Him: and He healed them 
there. 



Michael handed his book to Mother. She looked it over 
carefully, made a mark here and there with her pencil and then, 
to fill up a little open space at the end of the page, wrote: 

Blessed are the merciful, 
For they shall obtain mercy. 

Glancing at the next page, she asked: "And why did we 
plan to have 'The Lord's Prayer' follow right here?" 

"Because it contains the very thing Our Lord wanted to 
teach us in the PARABLE OF THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT." 

"How is that?" 

"Each time we repeat the OUR FATHER, we say to God: 

Forgive us our trespasses, 
As we forgive them that trespass against us. 

"And when Jesus was teaching the prayer, He gave particular 
attention to that petition about forgiveness. He said: 

For if you will forgive men their offences, 

Your heavenly Father will forgive you your offences. 

But if you will not forgive men, 

Neither will your Father forgive you. 

"Surely that is plain enough and strong enough. No one 
can say the Our Father honestly, and keep on holding any 
grudge or any bad feeling in his heart. But sometimes it is 
hard to forgive fully and to forget a wrong, just the way we 
expect God to forgive and to forget our sins." 

Michael looked at the crutch which stood beside him, the 
crutch which he would have to use all his life, and which (so 
it seemed then) would oblige him to give up the dearest ambi- 
tion of his heart. 

Mother knew what the boy was thinking of. It had, at first, 
been very hard for Michael to forgive the big, cruel man who 
had injured him in a fit of fury. It was harder still, because 




BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL, FOR THEY SHALL OBTAIN MERCY. 
St. Matthew v. 7. 



that very man was one to whom the young boy scout had often 
been kind, and towards whose family the boy's aunt had been 
very charitable. 

"Michael," said Mother in a voice so low that it was but a 
clear, earnest whisper, as if she were speaking to the boy's very 
soul, "you have done that hard thing; you have forgiven fully 
and freely the one who injured you; have you not?" 

The boy looked straight into Mother's eyes, and said slowly, 
"Yes; I have. What would be the use of keeping a bad heart? 
A bad leg is trouble enough. And besides, when I was in the 
hospital, I saw how the wounded soldiers bore their injuries. 
It was wonderful how much kindness those brave fellows had 
in their hearts, towards everybody, even those who had crippled 
them for life." 

"You are right, Michael," said Mother. "Now tell me, 
which form of The Lord's Prayer did you copy in your book; 
St. Matthew's or St. Luke's?" 

"I copied it from St. Matthew's Gospel, because it is given 
more completely there." And Michael read: 

Gtfje ILoxb'ti draper 

And when you are praying (the Lord Jesus said) speak not 
much, as the heathens. For they think that in their much speak- 
ing they may be heard. 

Be not you, therefore, like to them ; for you Father knoweth 
what is needful for you, before you ask Him. 
Thus, therefore, shall you pray: 

Our Father who art in Heaven, 
Hallowed be Thy name, 
Thy kingdom come, 
Thy will be done, 
On earth as it is in Heaven. 
Give us this day our supersubstantial bread. 
And forgive us our debts 
As we also forgive our debtors. 
And lead us not into temptation. 
But deliver us from evil. Amen. 



"St. Luke gives the prayer in a shorter form," said Michael, 
"and he says 'daily bread,' as we do now, every time that we 
repeat the 'Our Father.' " 

"But what is meant by 'supersubstantial bread,' Michael? 
You know I never let a big word like that slip by without 
explanation." 

"It means, all the graces we need in order to spend each day 
well. And, you told me, it means especially the Divine Bread 
of Holy Communion — daily Communion." 

"Yes, Michael, whenever we can have that great privilege. 
But remember that Jesus wants us to ask all that is necessary for 
our body as well as for our soul," said Mother. "That is why 
He taught us to call God 'Our Father.' The important condi- 
tions are these five, Michael. See, I shall count them on my 
fingers: we must go to God as children go to a father; we must 
submit to His holy will in all things, because He knows what 
is best for us; we must value the good things for the soul more 
than the good things for the body; we must pray for others as 
well as for ourselves; we must have in our heart true charity 
and a spirit of forgiveness. If we pray this way, our prayer 
will go straight to the heart of God, and the promises that Jesus 
made will be fulfilled. I see you have written those divine 
promises in the next parable, Michael." 

"That parable followed right after The Lord's Prayer, 
as St. Luke gives it; so I thought I might copy it here." And 
Michael read: 

QDfje parable of tfje 3fatportunate ifrtenb 

And He (the Lord Jesus) said to them: Which of you shall 
have a friend, and shall go to him at midnight, and shall say 
to him : Friend, lend me three loaves, because a friend of mine 
is come off his journey to me, and I have not what to set before 
him. 

And he, from within, should answer and say: Trouble me 
not, the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed ; 
I cannot rise and give thee. 



Yet, if he shall continue knocking, I say to you, although 
he will not rise and give him, because he is his friend; yet 
because of his importunity (that is, his perseverance) he will 
rise, and give him as many as he needeth. 

And I say to you (Our Lord continued) 

Ask, and it shall be given to you; 
Seek, and you shall find; 

Knock, and it shall be opened to you. 
For every one that asketh, receiveth; 
And he that seeketh, find eth ; 

And to him that knocketh, it shall be opened. 

And which of you, if he ask his father bread, will he give 
him a stone? or a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? 
Or if he ask an egg, will he reach him a scorpion? 

If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your 
children, how much more will your Father from Heaven give 
the good Spirit to them that ask Him? 

"And the next parable that I have written," said Michael, 
"is one which shows that Our Lord expects those people who 
have plenty of bread to share with those who have little or 
none." 

QTfje &tcfj Jfflan atrti tfje $oor beggar 

There was a certain rich man (the Lord Jesus said) who 
was clothed in purple and fine linen; and who feasted sumptu- 
ously every day. 

And there was a certain beggar, named Lazarus, who lay 
at his gate, full of sores, desiring to be filled with the crumbs 
that fell from the rich man's table, and no one did give him; 
moreover, the dogs came and licked his sores. 

And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried 
by the angels into Abraham's bosom. (That was the Jews' 
way of speaking; they meant the place of rest where good peo- 
ple went after death, to wait until the promised Messiah would 
open Heaven for them.) 

And (the Lord Jesus continued) the rich man also died; 
and he was buried in Hell. 




DESIRING TO BE FILLED WITH THE CRUMBS THAT FELL FROM 
THE RICH MAN'S TABLE.— St. Luke xvi. 21. 



And lifting up his eyes when he was in torments, he saw 
Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. 

And he cried, and said: Father Abraham, have mercy on 
me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger 
in water, to cool my tongue: for I am tormented in this flame. 
("Surely," said Michael, "Our Lord made Hell real enough 
when He spoke about it." "And He, the gentle Saviour," 
said Mother, "repeated His teaching about Hell many, many 
times, and always made it a frightful place of eternal torments. 
He did that through divine kindness, Michael, to give sinners 
plenty of warning as to what they must expect if they die in 
their sins. But go on with the story.") 

And Abraham said to him: Son, remember that thou 
didst receive good things in thy lifetime (good things which 
he used selfishly and badly) and likewise Lazarus received evil 
things. But now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. 

And besides all this (Abraham said) between us and you 
there is fixed a great chaos (a great and deep space), so that 
they who would pass from hence to you, cannot, nor from 
thence come hither. 

And he (the rich man) said: Then, Father, I beseech thee, 
that thou wouldst send him to my father's house, for I have 
five brethren ; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come 
into this place of torments. 

And Abraham said to him: They have Moses and the 
prophets; let them hear them. 

But he said : No, Father Abraham, but if one went to them 
from the dead, they would do penance. 

And he said to him: If they hear not Moses and the 
prophets, neither will they believe if one rise again from the 
dead. 



"It is a story that makes a person think ; isn't it, Motheranna?" 
And, not waiting for her answer, Michael added, "I'm rather 
glad I'm not going to be a rich man." 

"Riches, Michael, are a blessing from God's hand. If we 
use riches as God intends we should use them, when He en- 
trusts them to us, they will open Heaven for us, not close it 
against us. Besides, we can use riches to spread the Kingdom of 



Christ in this world, and thus help many other souls to get to 
Heaven." Mother spoke very earnestly. 

"I know," said Michael; "that is what you are doing, and 
Uncle James, too." Then he added with a laugh, "When I was 
a little fellow twelve years old, I told Aunt Phyllis one time 
what I would do with her money, if she ever willed any of it to 
me; and she said I would never have a chance, for she intended 
to give it all to Jeanne, who would know how to make better 
use of it." 

"And what was it you told your Aunt Phyllis?" Mother 
asked, smiling at the boy's courage in making such a speech to 
the rich old lady. 

Aunt Phyllis, I must tell you, had reared Michael's mother, 
who was an orphan; and she had always felt it sorely that her 
beautiful niece had married a Catholic and a soldier. She felt 
still more sorely aggrieved when Michael's mother herself, 
shortly before her death, became a Catholic. 

But when Major Charles Devera went over to France dur- 
ing the great world war, and said he would stay there just as 
long as he could serve his country by remaining in that foreign 
land, Aunt Phyllis insisted upon taking the two children into 
her own home. She gave a promise (and she kept it strictly, 
though it went painfully against her grain) that Michael and 
Jeanne would practice their religion as faithfully while in her 
home as they had practiced it in the boarding schools where 
their soldier father had placed them after the death of their 
mother. 

You see, therefore, that Aunt Phyllis was a conscientious 
woman. I can tell you also that she was charitable, in her own 
way, and did far more good with her great wealth than people 
gave her credit for. Mother knew this, and she esteemed 
Michael's beautiful Aunt Phyllis very highly. 

But you are wondering how Michael answered that ques- 
tion of Mother's. He said, "I told Aunt Phyllis that as soon 
as I got rich I would go over to India, where Aunt Moira 



is working among the heathens, and I would help build schools 
and hospitals and churches, the way she and her Sisters and the 
missionaries are doing. It seems a shame that rich people do 
not help them more, when they are working so hard, and suffer- 
ing so much, and sacrificing everything. Our Lord commanded 
His disciples to begin that teaching two thousand years ago." 




Mother smiled at the boy's earnestness. Michael was always 
earnest and enthusiastic when he spoke about Aunt Moira, whom 
he had never seen, but whom he, and all the family, loved and 
admired as their own living saint. Her name was Sister Mary 
Xavier, and she was really doing the work of a St. Xavier among 
the heathens. 

In his enthusiasm, the boy continued: "Two thousand years is 
surely a long time. An army officer said once (when he heard 
that three-fifths of the world is still pagan) 'Looks as if Christ's 
soldiers had forgot their marching orders.' 

"Motheranna, 1 ' the boy-scout leaned forward in his earnest- 
ness, "I think if there had been more St. Xaviers to lead the 
soldiers, and more Sister Mary Xaviers to help them, the world 
would have been conquered for Christ long ago. I wish — O 
Motheranna! You know what I wish." Michael sat up straight 
and, with a movement that was almost impatient, pushed his 
crutch away from the chair and let it fall on the grass. 

156 



"Michael, Michael," said Mother, in that kind and strong 
way of hers, "don't you remember what your own brave soldier 
father said about the winning of the world war over there in 
France?" 

"Yes; Father wrote more than once that the war was won 
on this side, by the loyal Americans who supported the fighters 
over there and put heart into them. But it's just like a brave 
soldier to say that. Father himself would not have staid on 
this side, even if he had not been an officer in the regular army. 
You know that, Motheranna. And I can't understand why . . . ." 
The eager boy checked himself. He was about to touch a sub- 
ject about which his father had forbidden him to speak. 

"Michael," said Mother brightly, wishing to turn the boy's 
thoughts away from the painful subject, "here is something I 
want you to read." She reached into her sewing basket, and 
drew forth a square white envelope, addressed in her own beau- 
tiful penmanship to "Mrs. Phyllis hansworth." 

"I wrote it this morning," Mother said, "to tell your aunt 
how very much we want Jeanne with us here." 

"That was good of you, Motheranna — after the two refusals 
Aunt Phyl sent this summer. I do wish we could get Jeanne 
here and keep her. I suppose that is what Aunt Phyl is afraid 
of." 

"Michael, your aunt is a lonely old lady. She feels that she 
needs Jeanne during the vacation. Although she has hosts of 
friends she has no one but you and Jeanne whom she can call 
her own. She loves both of you, Michael, and you know that 
Jeanne reminds her of your beautiful mother, whom she reared 
as her own child." 

"Just the same, Motheranna, I wish Aunt Phyl would not 
dress Jeanne up like a doll and parade her among all of her 
friends. Jeanne liked it at first, because any pretty girl would; 
but she got tired of it soon enough, and now she just hates it. 
Motheranna," he added, as if a sudden idea had come to him, 
"why couldn't we induce Aunt Phyl to let Jeanne come here 



during the school-year and go to the Sisters' academy with 
Moira, instead of going to a convent boarding school in Massa- 
chusetts?" 

Mother laughed. "You must have read my letter through 
the envelope, Michael." 

"Is that what you asked Aunt Phyllis to do? I 
never thought of it till this minute." Michael drew 
the letter carefully out of the spotless envelope. 

While he was reading it, there came a sweet, clear 
call across the lawn: u Moth-ah/ Moth-ah dear!" 

That was little David's way of singing Mother's 
name when he called from a distance. 

Now, he came leaping across the sunny lawn, in his white 
suit; big brown Towzer beside him. 

"Mother," he said, "it's the telephone! Lyda let me answer, 
and Father's there; he wants to talk to you." 





CHAPTER XIII 

MORE PLANS FOR MICHAEL 

'"11 /WOTH-A H! Moth-ah dear!" came David's singing call 
1 VI once more. 

As soon as he had given his message (as I told you 
in the last chapter) , David started on a run back to the house, 
hoping to have another chance to talk with Father "in the tele- 
phone." But, half way across the sunny lawn, he stopped and, 
seeing that Mother had not followed, and was still under the 
elm tree with Michael, he called again, in that high, sweet 
treble, to which even the birds had to listen: 

"Moth-a/z/ Moth-ah dear! May I talk to Father till you 
come?" 

"Yes, David," Mother answered, and then continued what 
she had been saying to Michael. 

"You will find the PARABLE OF THE TALENTS here." 
She handed him her copy of the New Testament, open at the 
Gospel of St. Matthew, Chapter XXV. "That story will follow 
very well after the parable of the selfish man Dives, whose riches 
dragged him into eternal torments. Our Lord shows us here that 
if treasures are used rightly they win for us eternal happiness. 
And by 'talents we do not understand money alone (though that 
is what the word meant originally) but all our gifts of mind 
and body, and all the favorable opportunities God gives us for 
doing good." 

"And after this parable," said Michael, "I have something 
else that I would like to write — before our book is completely 
filled." 

"Yes, Michael; do so," said Mother, as she hastened toward 
the house. 



Seated at the garden table, in Mother's elm-tree-parlor, 
Michael made his fountain pen fly swiftly over the pages of the 
blank book which, by his industry, had become THE PAR- 
ABLE BOOK. Very soon, in his own firm, clear writing, this 
story appeared: 

Qtfje parable of tfje Calente 

A man going into a far country called his servants, and 
delivered to them his goods; 

And to one he gave five talents, and to another two, and 
to another one; to every one according to his proper ability. 
(Those last words are the important thing to remember, 
said Michael to himself.) 

And immediately he (the master) took his journey. 

And he that had received the five talents, went his way, 
and traded with the same, and gained other five. 

And in like manner he that had received the two, gained 
other two. 

But he that had received the one, going his way, digged 
into the earth, and hid his lord's money. 

But after a long time the lord of those servants came, and 
reckoned with them. And he that had received the five talents 
coming, brought other five talents, saying: Lord, thou didst 
deliver to me five talents, behold I have gained other five over 
and above. 

His lord said to him : Well done, good and faithful servant, 
because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will place 
thee over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. 

And he also that had received the two talents came and 
said: Lord, thou didst deliver two talents to me; behold I 
have gained other two. 

His lord said to him: Well done, good and faithful servant; 
because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will place 
thee over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. 

But he that had received the one talent, came and said: 
Lord, I know that thou art a hard man. (That was a sneaky 
way to begin to excuse himself, said Michael. ) Thou reapest 
where thou hast not sown, and gatherest where thou has not 
strewed. (The fellow was a grumbler.) 

160 




AFTER A LONG TIME, THE LORD OF THOSE SERVANTS CAME, AND RECKONED 
WITH THEM.— St. Matthew xxv. 19. 



And being afraid (the coward was whining) I went and hid 
thy talent in the earth. Behold, here thou hast that which is 
thine. 

And his lord, answering, said to him: Wicked and slothful 
servant, thou knewest (so thou say est) that I reap where I sow 
not, and gather where I have not strewed. Thou oughtest there- 
fore to have committed my money to the bankers (that was the 
least the lazy fellow could have done) and at my coming I 
should have received my own with usury (with great interest). 
Take ye away therefore the talent from him (the master 
said to his other servants), and give it to him that hath ten 
talents. For to every one that hath, shall be given, and he 
shall abound. (Which means, I think, that the faithful servant 
shall have for his own what was entrusted to him, and what he 
gained by trading with it, and more over and above. ) 

But from him that hath not ( the master continued ) , that 
which he seemeth to have shall be taken away. (Because it 
was never really his own, but a trust fund which his lord placed 
in his hands, that he might do good with it. ) 

And the unprofitable servant (the lord said) cast ye into 
the exterior darkness. There shall be weeping and gnashing 
of teeth. 

Michael read over carefully what he had written. "No 
sign of Motheranna's coming back," he said. "I wonder whether 
she wanted me to copy the rest of this chapter. It seems to be 
about the Last Judgment. It certainly fits in here very well." 
And so he wrote: 

Gtfje Haat Subgmcnt 

And when the Son of Man (that means the Lord Jesus) 
shall come in His majesty, and all the angels with Him, then 
shall He sit upon the seat of His majesty, and all the nations 
shall be gathered before Him. And He shall separate them 
one from another, as the shepherd separateth the sheep from 
the goats. 

And He shall set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats 
on His left. (The sheep are the good people, and the goats 
the wicked people.) 



Then shall the King say to them that shall be on His right 
hand: Come, ye blessed of My Father, possess you the king- 
dom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. 
For I was hungry, and you gave Me to eat; 
I was thirsty, and you gave Me to drink; 
I was a stranger, and you took Me in; 
Naked, and you covered Me; 
Sick, and you visited Me; 
I was in prison, and you came to Me. 
Then shall the just answer Him, saying: Lord, when did 
we see Thee hungry, and fed Thee; thirsty, and gave Thee to 
drink? 

Or when did we see Thee a stranger, and took Thee in? 
or naked, and covered Thee? 

Or when did we see Thee sick or in prison, and came to 
Thee? 

And the King, answering, shall say to them: Amen, I say 
to you, as long as you did it to one of these My least brethren, 
you did it to Me. 

Then shall He say also to them that shall be on His left 
hand: 

Depart from Me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire which was 
prepared for the devil and his angels. 

For I was hungry, and you gave Me not to eat; 
I was thirsty, and you gave Me not to drink; 
I was a stranger, and you took Me not in ; 

Naked, and you covered Me not; 
Sick and in prison, and you did not visit Me. 
Then they also shall answer Him, saying : Lord, when did 
we see Thee hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, 
or in prison, and did not minister to Thee? 

Then He shall answer them, saying: Amen, I say to you, 
as long as you did it not to one of these least (My brethren) 
neither did you do it to Me. 

And these (the wicked ones) shall go into everlasting pun- 
ishment; but the just, into life everlasting. 

A hand was laid gently on Michael's shoulder. Putting 
down his fountain pen quietly, the boy looked up into Mother's 
face. 



"I knew you were there, Motheranna," he said, "but I felt 
that you wanted me to finish this." 

"So I did," said Mother. She sat down beside Michael, and 
he passed the book to her. It was filled — all but a few lines on 
the very last page. "A big piece of work, Michael!" she said. 
"And very well done! Don't you feel that there is great satis- 
faction in finishing up something like this?" 

"Yes," said the boy. "I have always liked to bring things 
to a finish; I could never understand why some people begin 
a dozen things, and drop them all when they are only half done 
and good for nothing. I think / set a higher value on my time 
and my labor than those people do on theirs. I want to keep 
at a thing until I see results that are worth while — that is, if 
results are possible. And, in this work, you have helped me right 
through, Motheranna; so it was an easy matter to persevere to 
the end." 

"I don't know about its being such an easy matter, at all 
times, during these past months. But I do know that your 
perseverance is going to be crowned with success — a bigger suc- 
cess than you dreamed of. I have just heard good news for you." 

"Good news about this book?" Michael asked, rather be- 
wildered. 

"About this book, and about some other matters also; but I 
shall tell you about the book first. You know that 
Father Tim borrowed it last week to look over it 
carefully. Well, Michael, your PARABLE BOOK is 
going to take wings." 
WI w^ngs." E "Take wings?" Michael repeated, "I don't un- 

derstand." 

Mother smiled at the boy's bewilderment. "I mean this: 
Father Tim and your Uncle James are going to have your 
Parable Book printed. 

"Father Tim says he wants it for his Sunday school. He 
thinks that it may be used in other schools also; especially 




if teachers are informed that Ned Gorman's company is pro- 
viding picture films for most of the parables." 

"Well, that is good news! You never thought of that when 
you began this book with THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER; did you, 
Motheranna?" 

"I thought only of giving pleasure to good old Father Tim, 
by carrying out his idea ; and I had in mind, 
of course, the benefit it would be to my own 
dear children." 

"Myself included, Motheranna?" 

"Yourself, my dear boy, very specially 
included." 

"Now," said Michael, "as your beau- 
tiful writing begins the book, Motheranna, 
I wish you would fill up the little piece 
that remains of this last page." 

Mother took the pen. With a few strokes she sketched 
an ancient lamp, tipped with flame, and beside the sketch she 
wrote these words of Our Divine Lord: 

So let your light shine before men, 
That they may see your good works, 
And glorify your Father who is in Heaven. 

"But, Michael," she said, when she had filled the very last 
line in THE PARABLE BOOK, "I quite forgot; you told me, 
before I went over to the house, that there was something else 
you wanted in the book." 

"Nothing could have finished the book better than this tiny 
parable which you have placed there." 

"But what other parable were you thinking of, Michael?" 

"Not a parable, Motheranna, but an incident in Our Lord's 
life. I was thinking about the story of The RICH YOUNG MAN ; 
the one whom Our Lord asked to follow Him, as His disciple. 
And the young man refused the invitation. When the splendid 

165 



young fellow turned away, Our Lord was disappointed. For 
the gospel says that Jesus looked on him and loved him, because 
he was really leading a good life." 

"Yes, Michael," said Mother. "I think that is one of the 
most touching incidents in Our Lord's life. The story is told 
by three of the evangelists; and two of them connect it closely 
with the blessing of little children who were presented to Jesus 
by their mothers. It seems that this good young man (richly 
dressed and handsome, I think he was) stood in the crowd that 
had gathered round to hear Our Lord speak to the little ones. 

"You remember, Michael, the lovely pictures Ned Gorman 
showed us of Jesus blessing little children. This innocent young 
man must have been touched by the sight, and especially by the 
words of Jesus." 

"Read the story, Motheranna," Michael pleaded; for he 
loved to hear Mother read. "You have your Bible right here." 
He handed the book to her. 

"I used to read this story often when I was a girl, Michael. 
I thought Jesus would call me, the way He called that young 
man, and the way He called your Aunt Moira. But you see," 
she added with a happy smile, "Our dear Lord had other plans 
for me." 

"I'm mighty glad He did have other plans," said Michael. 

Mother turned familiarly the leaves of her Bible — the book 
that she knew and loved best. "Here is St. Mark's account," 
she said; "I prefer that, because St. Mark has a way of pointing 
out little details which make us actually see what is going on." 

Mother read the story. Her sweet, low tones were full of 
love for Jesus and for His holy words. 

<£J)ri£t anfc tlje Klicf) ioung ittan 

And they (the mothers) brought to Him young children, 
that He might touch them. And the disciples rebuked them 
that brought the children. 

Whom when Jesus saw, He was much displeased, and saith 



to them: suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid 
them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. 

Amen (which means, in truth) I say unto you, whosoever 
shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall not 
enter into it. 

And embracing them, and laying His hands upon them, He 
blessed them. ("That is just like our dear loving Lord Jesus," 
said Mother.) 

And when He (the Lord Jesus) was gone forth into the 
way, a certain man (this is our rich young man who was in the 
crowd) running up and kneeling before Him, asked Him, Good 
Master (he could not help loving Jesus) what shall I do that I 
may receive life everlasting? (as Thou hast promised it to 
children. ) 

And Jesus said to him, Why callest thou Me good ? None is 
good (absolutely good) but one, that is God. (Jesus wished 
to impress upon the young man that He was really the Messiah, 
his God, and therefore had a personal claim to the service He 
was going to ask.) 

Thou knowest the commandments (Jesus continued) — Do 
not commit adultery, do not kill, do not steal, bear not false 
witness, do no fraud, honor thy father and mother. 

But he (the young man) answering said: Master, all these 
things I have observed from my youth. 

And Jesus looking on him, loved him, and said to him: 
One thing is wanting unto thee (that thou mayest be perfect) — 
go, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou 
shalt have treasure in Heaven; and come, follow Me. 

Who (the young man) being struck sad at that saying (give 
all to the poor) went away sorrowful: for he had great posses- 
sions (and he loved his riches). 

Mother paused. "I can just imagine," she said, "with what 
longing the eyes of Jesus followed that good young man as he 
rejected his sacred vocation and turned away. Jesus knew that 
the young man's love of riches would draw him into great 
temptations." 

"Read the parable that follows, Motheranna," said Michael, 
"the one about the camel and the eye of the needle. Uncle 
James explained to me that the 'needle's eye' is a small door 

167 



in the big city gate — an opening so small that camels can pass 
through it only when they get down on their knees and have 
their packs of merchandise removed." 




"Yes," said Mother, "some of the great students of holy 
scripture give that explanation. It seems to me a very good 
one; that is precisely what rich people have to do — get down 
on their knees, humble themselves, and give up their wealth. 
They can take nothing with them — except what they have given 
to the poor, and that part has gone through the narrow door 
before them." Then Mother continued the gospel story. 

Cfje Camel an& tfje l^ee&le'tf <£pe 

And Jesus, looking round about (after the rich young man 
had turned away) saith to His disciples: How hardly shall they 
that have riches enter into the kingdom of God! 

And the disciples were astonished at His words. (Because, 
among the Jews, the rich people were considered God's fa- 
vorites. ) 

But Jesus, again answering (He answered even their 

168 



thoughts) saith to them: Children, how hard is it for them that 
trust in riches, to enter into the kingdom of God. (You 
see, Michael, it is one thing to possess riches, as a gift from God, 
using them in the right way, and it is another thing to trust in 
riches, becoming independent of God from whose hand they 
come, and who will demand an account of their use — as He did 
in the Parable of the Talents.) 

It is easier (Jesus continued) for a camel to pass through 
the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the king- 
dom of God. 

They (the disciples) wondered the more, saying among 
themselves: Who then can be saved? (No doubt, these men 
had sometimes helped the camel-drivers when they tried, with 
severe beating, to force the big camels to creep through the 
little door on their knees.) 

And Jesus, looking on them (How I would love to have 
just one of those kind looks of Jesus!) saith: With men it is 
impossible; but not with God; for all things are possible with 
God. ("With God," Mother repeated. "We must always work 
with God, and then, by His grace, we shall make a success of 
our lives and gain heaven.") 

And Peter began to say (Peter was always talking up for 
the others) Behold, we have left all things, and have followed 
Thee. 

Jesus answering, said : Amen, I say to you, there is no man 
who hath left house or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, 
or children, or lands, for My sake and for the gospel who shall 
not receive an hundred times as much, now in this time, houses 
and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, 
with persecutions; and in the world to come life everlasting. 

But many that are first (that is the great ones and the rich 
ones of earth) shall be last; and the last (the poor and the 
humble) shall be first. 

"Motheranna," said Michael, "when you were reading that 
grand, solemn promise of Our Lord, I thought of our own 
Father Tim. He is the happiest man I have ever met; and to 
see him among his people in the village is enough to prove that 
every word of Our Lord has been fulfilled. All the people 
are like his own kith and kin; and the whole village with the 




*8 



- > 

- < 

- = 



country round belongs to Father Tim — that is, he takes as much 
pleasure in it all as if it were really his own." Then Michael 
added: 

"But there is one thing in the promise that does not touch 
Father Tim; he has no persecutions" 

"Michael," said Mother seriously, "there have been very 
severe trials and sufferings in Father Tim's life; but he never 
speaks of these things, nor does he permit others to refer to them. 
Did you think of anyone else while I was reading?" 

"Aunt Moira! She has had the persecutions; but I don't see 
that she got much of the good things promised." 

"Aunt Moira herself would not say that. She is one of the 
very happiest and best loved women in the whole world. And 
what about all the mite-boxes, big and little, that are sent to 
her?" 

"For schools and churches and orphan asylums!" said 
Michael. "But I see, Motheranna. Those thousands of black 
children are really her family; they love her and she loves them; 
and whatever people do for them, they do for Aunt Moira." 

"And besides all of that, Michael, our Sister Mary Xavier 
is united to the dear Lord Jesus just as truly as I am united to 
your Uncle James. Therefore, Our Lord's possessions, His 
power, and His interests are hers, and so is His divine love, in 
a very special way." 

"Aunt Moira is a saint!" said Michael reverently. 

"She is," said Mother, "and a very sweet, happy saint." 

Michael took the Bible from Mother's lap and, before closing 
it, marked the pages which she had read from St. Mark's gospel, 
Chapter X. "I think I'll try to teach Davy that story of The 
Rich Young Man," he said thoughtfully. 

"I wish you could," said Mother. But she understood that 
Michael wanted to read the story over for another reason also. 
"And Michael," she added, "try to impress upon David's mind 
that it is God himself who calls a boy to be a priest; and no 
one can be a priest unless God really wants him for that high 
and sacred office." 



"But you would love to have David become a priest, would 
you not?" 

"I pray every day, Michael, that God will choose at least 
one of my boys for His own service. But in that sacred matter 
there should be no human interference, either to push a boy into 
the priesthood, or to hold him back if God has called him." 

"Motheranna," said Michael, bending forward and looking 
intently at her, "I want to tell you something; may I? I would 
tell my own dear, good mother if she were living; and now you 
are taking her place. My father could not object to my speak- 
ing of it, just this once, to you." There was pain in the boy's 
large dark eyes. He had held in so many times when his heart 
urged him to speak on this subject. 

"Tell it, Michael." Mother knew it was best for the boy to 
speak. "And then," she added brightly, "I shall have something 
to tell you. You know I brought other good news besides that 
about The Parable Book." 

Michael put out a large, well-trained hand, and laid it on 
the crutch which rested against his chair. "Ever since this 
happened," he said, "I have asked God to take out of my 
heart the desire to become a priest. But that desire is still 
there; in fact, it grows stronger all the time. Neither my 
mind nor my heart can be satisfied with any ambition lower 
than that. And yet, that cannot be. Not because my father 
will not hear of it; I always felt sure that my father would 
give his consent in time, for he is one of the best men I know. 
But because this" (he laid his hand again on the crutch, and 
on his injured leg) "this makes me unfit." 

Mother did not say a word; the love in her eyes spoke more 
than words. The boy was silent for a moment and then he 
continued, in lighter tones. 

"When I was a little fellow, I had my mind all made up as 
to what I would be — just as James has his mind made up now, 
to be precisely what his father is. And James will carry out his 
plans." Michael smiled brightly at Mother. "That cornfield 




out there has made a man of him this 
summer." 

"There he goes now," said Mother. 
"I told him he might work when the 
great heat of the day was over; but I 
think he should have waited until five 
o'clock." 

"No need to worry about James, 
Motheranna. He is growing as tall and 
sturdy as his cornstalks — and they are 
wonderful. Every stalk will provide at 
least two big ears of corn for our scout 
boys at the picnic next week; with a 
promise of more for a second picnic, if 
we care to have it." 

Michael waved his arm at James ; and 
James, in his blue jeans, a real farmer- 
boy, waved his hoe at Michael. Then he disappeared between 
the rows of tall cornstalks. 

"How Michael would enjoy that kind of work!" This was 
the thought in Mother's mind; but she said nothing. Her kind, 
earnest eyes invited Michael to say all that he wished to say. 
It was a good thing that the boy should pour out his heart to 
her, and should know that she understood him fully. 

One glance showed Michael that she was listening; she 
seemed to be listening to his very thoughts, even before he spoke 
them. He continued, just as if there had been no interruption 
in his story. 

"When we were all living the army life out West — Mother 
and Jeanne and I — with Father, my ambition was to be a soldier. 
The army^ men used to say that I would be a general some day. 
My father, too, seemed to think I was cut out for a military 
leader, and he said he was going to give me the right kind of 
training for it. Of course, I liked to hear such things; any boy 
would. 

"But one day (it was after Mother died, and I was at board- 

173 



ing school, you know) I happened to pick up the little mis- 
sionary paper that Aunt Moira sends us from India. I had 
often read it before, and I was interested in it for Aunt Moira's 
sake. But that day, when I put down the little paper, a great 
change had come over me. I had made up my mind that there 
was only ONE WORK I could ever be satisfied with; only ONE 
ARMY in which I cared to be an officer; only ONE COMMANDER- 
IN-CHIEF under whom I would serve. You know what I mean, 
Motheranna." 

"Yes." Mother said just that one word. It was enough. 

The boy's eyes were glowing with his holy ambition; his 
cheeks were flushed; his shoulders strong and straight. He was 
a true soldier, through and through; not only in his brave, un- 
selfish heart, but in his pure, courageous soul. Surely, when 
Charles Devera named his son in honor of the great archangel 
who fought God's own battles against Satan and his rebels, it 
was God himself who inspired the choice of that name. 

This thought was in Mother's mind as she looked at Michael ; 
and a prayer was in her heart. The boy knew that the prayer 
was there; and he joined his own prayer with hers. So they sat 
silent, for a few moments. And there was only the splashing of 
the little fountain that played in the sunlight — just beyond the 
shade of the great elm tree which sheltered them, this brilliant 
afternoon in midsummer. (Thus, too, does Divine Providence 
cast a saving shadow sometimes into a brilliant life.) 

Mother leaned over then, to pick up her sewing. It had 
fallen on the grass. Looking up into Michael's earnest face, 
she gave that little laugh of hers which was so much like the 
splashing of the fountain. "Michael," she said, "you have not a 
bit of curiosity. You have not asked me what news I brought for 
you — good news, besides that about The PARABLE BOOK." 

Michael laughed too. "If Moira were here she would have 
had it out long ago," he said. "And so would Jeanne." 

"You will see Jeanne before the end of this month." 

174 



"Is Aunt Phyllis going to let her come here, after all? And 
without this third invitation?" He pointed to the letter in 
Mother's sewing basket. 

"Aunt Phyllis," said Mother slowly, "is going to take her 
to New York. And you are going to New York." 

"My father?" said the boy, his face losing its smile. "I hope 
he is not . . . ." 

"Your father is perfectly well, Michael ; and he feels sure 
he can make you perfectly well. He writes that there is a famous 
doctor in Paris who has been doing wonders for the wounded 
soldiers; and he wants you to come over there and see him." 

"That is just like Father. He will not be satisfied until he 
has tried every human means to restore this leg." 

"And are you glad to go, Michael?" 

"I shall be mighty glad to see my father." 

"And to see this famous doctor?" 

"I shall feel sorry if my father has placed his hopes too 
high. Poor Father, he has had to make so many sacrifices; and 
he has had such a hard life, ever since Mother died. Mother- 
anna, have you told my father precisely what all the doctors 
over here said about this injury? That they believe it to be — 
incurable?" The brave boy scout brought out the hard word 
with pain. 

"Yes, Michael, I did. And then your Uncle James sent 
him the written statement made by the doctors. He knows 
everything, just as fully as we do." 

"And still he has hope. Well, I have hope too, Motheranna; 
a hope that springs up continually, even though I did make up 
my mind to accept this (he picked up his crutch) for life, IF IT 
IS God's WILL. But I cannot say," the boy added, "that my hope 
is based on any particular doctor, famous though he may be." 

Michael drew out of his pocket a small memorandum book 
and, opening it, he handed it to Mother. "One day, when I was 
frightfully discouraged," he said, "I picked up one of your little 
prayer-books, The Following of Christ. My eye fell upon 



these words. They meant a great deal to me then; and they 
have meant a great deal to me ever since. Perhaps I do not 
understand their true meaning; but they cling to my mind, 
and they do me good." 

Mother read the few lines which the boy had copied there. 
She read the lines twice, — three times. 

Then, with a, light in her pure eyes, like that which glowed 
in the eyes of this young St. Michael, she said, "Keep those 
words in your mind, Michael. Keep them in your heart. Keep 
them in your soul. Our Lord, in His own good time, will show 
you just what He meant by that message." 

"Moth-flA/ Moth-ah dear!" There was David again; but 
this time he was not alone. On the driveway, near the house, 
stood Father Tim. He wore his cassock — which was an unusual 
thing for him to do on an afternoon call. And he had come in 
an auto — which was likewise unusual. Tall and strong and 
straight, the gray-haired pastor had his little white lamb on his 
shoulder. 

"Come here, Michael lad!" Father Tim called out. "Do you 
know that we two are going to sail the ocean together? I had 
to hurry out here and tell you." 

"But you're not going till after the picnic," cried David. 
"Father Tim said so; and you're coming back; and perhaps you 
will bring Uncle Charles with you." 

"Anna," said Father Tim to Mother, "it is all arranged. I 
got my leave of absence from the bishop, and he will send a 
young priest to help Father Creedon while I am away. Call 
James and Moira now," he said to little David, as he stood 
him on his own two sturdy legs, "and then I shall tell the whole 
of you all about it." 

David cupped his chubby hands round his mouth, and gave 
a clear call, which he had learned from the bov scouts. 



There was an answer from the little cornfield. Another 
answer from somewhere at the other side of the house. 

Then David gave a second call. Tapping the tips of his 
fingers with light, rapid touch against his lips at each repetition 
of "o-o-o," and resting the fingers on his little chin at each "O", 
he sent the full, long, pure tone out upon the clear country 
air. 




It was a glad, sweet call, and you can guess what answer it 
brought; for it means, "GOOD NEWS!" 



CHAPTER XIV 



FATHER TIMOTHY AT HOME 



IT WAS three days before the time appointed for Michael's 
voyage to France. Father Timothy had been very busy 
during the past two weeks. It seemed as if everybody in 
the parish wanted to speak to the good old pastor, about this 
or about that, before he started off on his vacation trip with 
young Michael Devera. And the people who could not come 
to Father Tim — the sick and the very old people — had Father 
Tim come to them. 

Of course, there was young Father Creedon, whom they 
loved and who loved them. But Father Tim was Father Tim; 
they had known him for a lifetime, and no one else could be 










k e^fcSHNUft 



exactly the same. So Father Timothy kept open house; and the 
people, old and young, kept coming and going. 

On this July afternoon, however, that I am telling you 
about, the big hall in Father Timothy's home (where the peo- 



pie waited their turn to speak to the pastor) was empty and 
quiet. 

Out in the front yard the boy scout gardeners were at work. 
They were determined to make everything look neat and trim 
before Father Timothy should start off. 

The latch of the gate clicked, and a feeble old man came 
in. Instantly, a boy gardener (one who was weeding the gravel 
walk) jumped to his feet, and gave a soldierly salute. 

The old man was Peter; the boy scouts always greeted him 
in this manner when he entered his garden, while they were at 
work there. The honor pleased old Peter. And then this mil- 
itary salute was one of the innocent tricks by which the boys 
had won Peter over completely. They treated the old gardener 
as a captain, but he was really letting them have their own will 
about everything. 

Still another circumstance had helped to give the boy scouts 
full control of the place. Old Peter had been sick. He acknowl- 
edged one day that, for the first time in thirty years, he was too 
weak to push the lawn-mower. After much coaxing on the 
part of the boys, and many instructions on Peter's part, Carl 
Huber was allowed to set foot on the beautiful lawn and push 
the mower, feeble old Peter walking at his side. 

In explaining the matter to Father Tim that night, Peter 
said, "I never would a-done it, yer reverence, 'cept for one thing. 
I've been watchin' Carl some time, and I'm reasonable sure 
there'll come a day when he'll be either my successor or yours. 
He's got it in him; he surely has." 

So, after that day, old Peter spent less time in his garden 
and more time in church — "preparin' for the end," as he said. 
And Carl Huber was really the master of the precious lawn, 
while the other boy scouts took care of "the trimmings." 

This July afternoon, however, it was Carl who was weeding 
the gravel walk which led from the gate to the front door; and 
it was he who gave old Peter the military salute. 



Peter straightened up, as best he could, and, surveying his 
garden, said, "The place looks very nice, very nice; but 'tisn't 
the place I came to see this afternoon; I'm goin' in, to have a 
talk with Father Tim." 

"Father Tim is engaged this afternoon, Peter," said the boy 
scout respectfully — just as he had said it to several other callers, 
at Father Creedon's suggestion. 

"Did Father Tim tell you to say that?" asked Peter sharply. 

"No, Peter, he didn't; but you know" — 

"Yes; I know it wouldn't be like Father Tim to say that. 
No one ever heard of him doin' such a thing." And Peter 
started toward the porch. 

"But, Peter, didn't any of the village folk tell you that 
Father Tim has a visitor?'' 

"Sure, he's havin' visitors all the time," said Peter, with a 
twinkle in his old eyes; "and I'm one just now." 

Another of the gardeners stepped out on the gravel walk. 
"Look here, Peter," he said, "haven't you heard that a grand 
gentleman, a stranger, came to visit Father Tim this morning? 
He's there yet. You come tomorrow, Peter. You know you 
had a nice talk with Father Tim yesterday, right out here in 
the garden. Can't you wait till tomorrow? The parish folk 
have been in and out all morning. Let Father Tim have a 
little time to himself." 

"It's just that I want to see about. Father Tim ought to 
have a little time to himself; and that stranger, whoever he is, 
isn't lettin' him have it. Why should he stay here all day, 
after poor Father Tim lost his sleep last night with old John 
Kimball; him that wouldn't have the holy sacraments till the 
eleventh hour?" 

"Don't worry about that, Peter," said a third boy scout, 
"Father Tim looked as happy as could be over old John Kim- 
ball. I saw him when he got back in time to say Mass." 

"And I know, because I served this morning," added Carl. 



"Then it's all right, is it? I'm glad John got through the 
gates of death safe. But it's a risky thing to wait till the eleventh 
hour to get your soul in order. Take the lesson, boys. Don't 
you turn away from God when you're young, and then expect 
God to hold out His arm to lift you over the abyss when you're 
breathin' your last breath." 

The boys were silent and respectful while Peter spoke. He 
nodded his head slowly several times, repeating, "It's a risky 
thing, boys!" Then he added, with a smile like that of an in- 
nocent child, "But I'm glad he got through the gates of death 
safe. I'll come back to see Father Tim tomorrow. I want 
to tell him I was prayin' hard for old John. It would have 
been an awful thing for him to go into eternity without gettin' 
his soul ready to meet God." 

Peter passed out of Father's Tim's garden, and the boy 
scouts went back to their work. 

Pretty soon, someone else slipped through the garden gate, 
which old Peter had left partly open. He ran lightly up the 
gravel walk, and was on the porch, before the boy scouts, busy 
with their work, even noticed him. 

When they did notice, the little visitor was passing through 
the front door, which stood invitingly open. 

"It's all right," said Carl Huber, who was the chief of the 
garden workers this afternoon. "Father Tim and the strange 
gentleman will not be disturbed by that caller." 

The hall of Father Timothy's home was big and bare. There 
was no carpet on the floor, though there were beautiful pictures 
on the walls. There were no chairs, but there were rows of 
comfortable benches at either side. Father Timothy's people 
knew they could walk right in and sit here, waiting their turn 
to pass into his room and have a talk with him. Just now, all 
of the benches were empty. 

There were rooms at either side of the hall. But the visitor 
paid no attention to these. He walked straight to a closed 

181 



door at the end of the hall, and gave a sharp rap with his little 
knuckles. 

"Come in!" said a man's voice. But it was not Father Tim's 
voice. The little visitor was so surprised that he jumped. He 
had never heard any voice but Father Tim's come from that 
room. 

In another moment, the door was opened. There stood a 
strange gentleman, tall and old and gray; but he did not look 
a bit like Father Tim. The little visitor was not frightened; 
no, not a bit; but he shrank away from the man, as if he did 
not like him. 

The stranger tried to smile. His face and his eyes did not 
seem to know how to smile; at least, not the way good old Father 
Tim's face and eyes did it. 

"Well! And who are you?" the stranger said, 
trying to speak kindly. 

"I'm David Devera," said the little fellow 
promptly, "and I came to see Father Tim. But 
I guess I'll come another time." 

"Another time?" said a hearty voice, some- 
where in the upper hall. "Another time?" David 
turned, ran up the hall stairs, and met Father 
Tim, who was coming down. "No, no," said the 
good pastor cheerily, though he looked very, very 
tired. "I want my little David right now." 

Holding David's hand, Father Tim went into 
his room — a long room that stretched across the 
rear of the house. David had been in this room 
quite often, but the only things he had ever noticed were: Father 
Tim's big chair, a kneeling bench close by; a few book shelves 
and a large picture of the Good Shepherd, which Grandpa 
Devera had painted for his old friend. 

Of course, there were some other things, but David had never 
paid any attention to them. Neither did he pay any attention 
now to the strange gentleman. This person went to the farther 

182 




end of the room, sat down at a desk, and began to write. He 
had probably been doing that same thing when David knocked 
at the door. 

If David had observed the stranger at all, he would no doubt 
have thought, in his little mind, that it was a very natural thing 
for this man to sit at a desk and write, or count up figures; and 
a very wwnatural thing for him to try to smile or talk to a child. 
But David gave his whole attention to Father Timothy. 

"I came to ask you a question, Father Tim," he said. "Mother 
told me I might come. She went to church to say her rosary. 
She wants to thank Our Lord and Our Blessed Lady because 
old John Kimball died a happy death." 

The stranger glanced up. Those words sounded queer— 
they were almost amusing — coming from the lips of such a 
little child. 

"Did you want to ask me a question about old John Kim- 
ball, Davy?" said Father Tim kindly and seriously. 

"Oh no, Father Tim!" David gave his little laugh. "I 
wanted to ask, why you didn't come to our picnic. You know 
you said, a long time ago, that you would 
come; and we were all disappointed." 

"I could not come, Davy; I was 
needed here by my good people. But 
Father Creedon was there, and the boy 
scouts. You had a fine time, all of you; 
so I heard." 

"Yes; we did have a fine time," said 
David, his eyes dancing at the remem- 
brance of it. And Father was there, too. 
He said he wouldn't have missed it for 
anything. He said those roastin ears 
were finer than any great dinner a man 
could get anywhere in town. I'll tell you, 
Father Tim, James was happy." 

"James deserved to be happy," said 

183 




Father Tim. "He has worked mighty hard this summer in 
his little cornfield." 

"Father Tim, I wanted to bring you some of the roasted 
corn and the camp-fire potatoes, because you like them; but 
James said they are no good unless they are hot, right from the 
fire. He is getting ready to have another picnic when you and 
Michael come home from your trip. How soon will that be, 
Father Tim?" 

"Some time in September, Davy, or October, perhaps." 

"That sounds way, way off, Father Tim. September is when 
vacation is over. Will that be after my First Communion? I 
want you here for my First Communion, Father Tim." David's 
lip began to quiver, but he stiffened it manfully. 

"You would not want to put off your First Communion, 
Davy; would you?" Father Tim asked the question tenderly, 
hoping, perhaps, that David would say yes; for he loved this 
child of his very much, and longed to give him First Com- 
munion with his own priestly hand. 

David thought a minute. "If I put it off, could I have you 
here?" 

"Yes, Davy; but you could 
not have your First Commun- 
ion on Our Lady's birthday." 

"No, Father Tim," said 
David firmly, "I wouldn't 
want to put off my First Com- 
munion. That would not be 
treating Our Lord nice, when 
He wants to come to me on His 
Mother's birthday." 

"You are a good boy, 
David," said Father Tim, "and 
I am proud of you. You are 
a little gentleman." 

The stranger at the desk 




LEARNING , 



stopped writing, and looked at Father Tim. But David did 
not see him. 

"Davy," said Father Tim, "have you learned any more 
parables since I was out at your house?" 

"I'm learning a story!" said David eagerly. "Michael is 
teaching me the story of the rich young man who refused Our 
Lord's invitation, when Jesus said, 'Come, follow Me!' He 
loved his money too much. I'm sorry for him; and Jesus was 
sorry." 

The stranger at the desk made a quick movement of pain; as 
though the child's innocent words had stung his heart. 

Father Tim gave a start of surprise also. "I really did not 
know you were learning that story." His voice was low and 
tenderly kind; it seemed to be meant for the strange gentleman 
more than for the child on his knee. 

"I haven't learned it all, Father Tim, — not yet. But I 
know a new parable — a long one, the kind that James learns. 
Shall I say it for you now?" 

"Yes, Davy lad. Stand right here, and be a little preacher." 
Father Tim put David on the kneeling bench, where the strange 
gentleman could see him; and the little preacher began at once, 
thinking only of giving pleasure to Father Tim, who looked so 
tired and so old today. This is the parable. 

Cfje Haborers in tfje "^Tmeparb 

The kingdom of Heaven is like to a householder who went 
out early in the morning to hire laborers into his vineyard. 

And having agreed with the laborers for a penny a day, he 
sent them into his vineyard. (Michael told me that it was a 
silver penny, and it was a good day's wages.) 

And going out the third hour (that was nine o'clock in the 
morning) he (the master) saw others standing in the market 
place idle. 

And he said to them: Go you also into my vineyard, and 
I will give you what shall be just. And they went their way. 

And again he went out about the sixth and the ninth hour, 



and did in like manner. (That means: he hired more laborers 
at twelve o'clock, and at three o'clock in the afternoon.) 

But about the eleventh hour (that was five o'clock, when 
the day's work was nearly over) he went out and found others 
standing, and he saith to them: 

Why stand you here all the day idle? 

They say to him: Because no man hath hired us. He saith 
to them: Go you also into my vineyard. 




ROMAN SI 



And when evening was come, the lord of the vineyard 
saith to his steward: Call the laborers and pay them their 
hire, beginning from the last even to the first. 

When therefore they were come, that came about the 
eleventh hour, they received every man a penny. 

But when the first also came, they thought that they should 
receive more; and they also received every man a penny. 

And receiving it they murmured against the master of the 
house, saying: These last have worked but one hour, and 
thou hast made them equal to us, that have borne the burden 
of the day and the heats. 

But he answering said to one of them: Friend, I do thee 
no wrong: didst thou not agree with me for a penny? 

Take what is thine, and go thy way; I will give to this 
last even as to thee. Or, is it not lawful for me to do what I 
will ? Is thy eye evil, because I am good ? 

"I don't understand all of that parable, Father Tim," said 
David, when he had finished. "Michael said, neither does he 
understand it all. But he said, it's enough for us to know that 
God don't want us to grumble at the way He does things 
in this world of His. God is wiser and better— much wiser and 
better — than anybody on the whole earth, and everything God 
does is right." David bobbed his little head emphatically at 
each word. (Wise thoughts can be put into little heads.) 




THEY MURMURED AGAINST THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, SAYING: THESE LAST HAVE 

WORKED BUT ONE HOUR, AND THOU HAST MADE THEM EQUAL 

TO US.— St. Matthew xx. n, 12. 



"The parable means, Davy," said Father Tim, "that the 
Lord Jesus, who died on the cross for love of all men, wants 
all people to save their souls." 

"Even the rich young man who turned away from Our Lord 
when He invited him to be a disciple," added little David. 
"I know, because Michael told me so, when I said that young 
man would never get to Heaven." 

"I certainly hope he got to Heaven, Davy; though he took 
a great risk, because he did not choose the way of life God had 
planned for him. Our Lord kept that young man in His mind, 
for He told the PARABLE OF THE VINEYARD just after the poor 
fellow had turned away. And at the end of the parable, Jesus 
added some words which show that He was still thinking of 
that young man whom He loved and who had disappointed Him. 
These are the words: 

Many are called, but few are chosen. 

"The rich young man was one of the few who are chosen for 
the great honor of following Jesus as His special friends and 
helpers. Many are called into the vineyard, which is Christ's 
true church. And Our Lord will give them eternal happiness 
(that is the penny of the parable) even if they come to Him only 
at the very end of their life, when they are old and gray." 

David listened in that wise little way of his, and he seemed 
to catch the meaning of Father Tim's words — spoken so kindly, 
while he looked right into the child's innocent eyes, as if he 
saw the soul which was hidden there. 

"But, Father Tim," said David, "Our Lord would be much 
better pleased if those people came to Him when they were 
young, and did not wait till they got old and gray. Michael 
said so." 

"Yes, David; those men who stood idle all the day outside 
the vineyard, ran a risk of not getting into the vineyard at all; 
and that means they very nearly lost their souls." 

"And if a person loses his soul," said David, in that practical 



little way of his, "he goes to Hell and suffers, and stays with the 
devils for all eternity, instead of being happy with God, and 
with all the good people, and with the angels. People who lose 
their souls are very foolish; aren't they, Father Tim?" 

"They are, Davy. But the pity is, those are the people who 
think they are wise. They see their mistake only when they 
leave this world, and stand before God to be judged." 

Little David looked serious. "Old John Kimball stood 
before God to be judged last night; didn't he, Father Tim?" 

"John was ready; thank God," said the pastor. "Though 
he turned to God only at the eleventh hour, Our Lord was glad 
to receive him. John died a good death, Davy. You were 
praying for that; weren't you?" 

"Mother and all of us were praying for that; and we're 
mighty glad old John Kimball is safe now. He was a lost 
sheep; wasn't he, Father Tim?" 

"Yes, Davy; he was a lost sheep," said the pastor, "a lost 
sheep, as everybody knows. But now, I hope, there is joy in 
Heaven, because the lost sheep was brought safe into the fold. 
Do you remember, Davy, the beautiful pictures Ned Gorman 
showed us one night?" 

"Yes, Father Tim, and I remember my parable of The Lost 
Sheep. I said it again when Mother invited the Sunday school 
children out to the moving pictures. I'll say my parable now, 
and you'll see I didn't forget it." 

When the little fellow had finished, Father Tim asked, 
"How do you remember all those parables, Davy?" 

"Hoi" David gave his happy little laugh. "I don't have 
to remember them; they just remember themselves. It's hard 
for Michael to teach me; but he says that after he has put them 
into my head, they just stay there." 

"God has given you a wonderful little head, Davy; you must 
thank Him for it." 

"I thank Him for everything" said David, "because He 
gives me everything. Mother said so." 

189 



There was a tapping at the door. Before Father Tim even 
heard it, David jumped forward, saying, "It's Moira! Mother 
said she would send her over from church when it was time 
for me to go." 

As David ran to open the door, Father Tim glanced toward 
the stranger at the other end of the room. He had been resting 
his elbows on the desk, his face in his hands; but he looked 
up, and gave a start of surprise, when the beautiful little girl 
entered. 

Moira's bright eyes took in the whole room at once. She 
saw the stranger, and stood shyly just where she was. 

"Come, Moira," said Father Tim. "This gentleman is an 
old friend of mine." 

Moira made a pretty bow to the gentleman. He bowed 
deeply to her; as he would have bowed to a little princess. But 
he said nothing, nor did he try to smile. He only looked at 
Moira; he could not take his eyes from her lovely face. And 
he seemed to be thinking, — thinking of something way back in 
the past. 

Moira lifted her beautiful, in- 
nocent eyes once— eyes as blue as 
violets — looked at the face of the 
stranger and then, dropping her 
pretty head modestly, she moved 
closer to Father Tim. 

The priest took her hand in his. 

"Moira," he said, "Davy has 
been saying some of his parables 
for this gentleman." 

David turned to the stranger in 
surprise. "Did you hear my par- 
ables?" he asked. 

"Yes, David, I heard them." 

David had walked over toward 
the desk. He looked up at the 



§v^ 




stranger searchingly and asked, in his friendly little way, "Are 
you the same man who opened the door for me?" 

"No, David," said the stranger slowly, "I am not the same 
man." 

"No," David repeated, "you don't look like him; you're 
nicer. But you're something like him." The child was puzzled. 

"Davy," Father Tim called cheerily, with a swift, kind 
glance toward the strange gentleman, "does Moira know as many 
parables as you know?" 

David laughed. "Ho! she knows lots more than I do." 

"Will you say some parables, Moira?" Father Tim asked. 

"Which ones, Father?" 

"Any that you like, my child." 

"Then I had better choose some short ones, because Mother 
is waiting for us, Father Tim." 

Turning toward the priest (for she felt the stranger's eyes 
still on her) Moira seemed more like herself again. She smiled 
brightly, and said, "I'll tell what the Lord Jesus said about 
birds and flowers." 

GEfje 2Pirte anb tfje 7L\\\t& 

Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor do 
they reap, nor gather into barns; and your heavenly Father 
feedeth them. 

Are not you of much more value than they? 

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one 
of them is forgotten before God? (A copper farthing was 
worth two mites; and a mite was the very tiniest piece of 
money. ) 

Yea (said the Lord Jesus), the very hairs of your head are 
all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than 
many sparrows. 

And for raiment (which means clothing) why are you 
solicitous (or anxious) ? Consider the lilies of the field, how 
they grow: they labour not, neither do they spin. 



But I say to you, that not even Solomon (the king) in all 
his glory was arrayed as one of these. 

Be not solicitous therefore, saying, What shall we eat, or 
what shall we drink, or wherewith shall we be clothed? 

For your Father knoweth that you have need of these things. 

Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God, and His jus- 
tice (which means His holy will), and all these things shall be 
added unto you. 

When Moira had finished 
speaking, Father Tim softly re- 
peated, "Fear not; you are of more 
value than many sparrows. 1 ' And 
then said over again that last verse, 
which is a sacred promise made 
by Jesus to every one who honestly 
tries to do His Heavenly Father's 
holy will. 

Then, taking the little girl's 
hand in both of his, he said, 
"Thank you, my child. But now, 
we must not keep your mother 
waiting any longer." 

"Good-bye, Father Tim," she 
said, and gave a sign to David. 

"Good-bye, Father Tim." David shook hands like a little 
man. 

Turning to the stranger, Moira said shyly, "Good-bye, 

Mr. , Mr. ," and waited for his name. 

But the stranger did not give his name. He only said, "Good- 
bye, Miss Moira," bowing to her again, in that courtly manner 
of his, as if he were thinking of a princess, or of an angel. 

"Good-bye," said David, and gave his little hand to the 
strange gentleman. 

"Good-bye, David. Will you say a prayer for me, the way 
you did for old John Kimball?" 




. HEAVENLY FATHER FEEDETH THEM 



"Yes," said David, with a bright smile, "I'll say two prayers; 
one to Jesus and one to our Blessed Lady." 

Then David ran after Father Tim and Moira, who had 
passed quickly through the hall to the front door. 

And there, in the shade of the maple trees near the garden 
gate, stood Mother. 

"Tell your mother, children," said Father Tim, "that Father 
Creedon is preparing ten little First Communicants to be David's 
companions on Our Lady's birthday." 

"And Moira," the priest added, resting a hand in blessing 
on the little girl's dark curls, "I want you to wear your white 
veil, and walk in the procession, so that you can be right beside 
David when he receives Our Lord for the first time into his 
little heart." 

Down the gravel walk ran David, to give this double piece 
of good news to Mother. 

But Moira, so happy that she could not speak, looked up into 
the priest's kind face; — her heart was thanking him through 
her beautiful eyes. 

Then she said, "How did you know, Father Tim? How 
could you know just what I have been praying for? I think you 
see into my heart — the way Jesus does." 

"God bless you, child!" said Father Tim. "Now run along 
and tell your mother." The good pastor stood at his door 
watching the happy group under 1 the maple tree. Then he 
waved a cheerful good-bye, as Mother and the two children 
passed out of the garden. 





CHAPTER XV 

OUR lady's birthday 

^AKE up, David! Wake up! It's Our 
Lady's Birthday !" Little David's 
blue eyes flew open ; they were 
brighter than the sunbeams that streamed in 
through the window. He threw his arms 
around Mother, who was kneeling beside his 
little white bed. 
"Mother, Mother! It's my First Communion Day!" 
"Yes, David, my dear little son! And it's Our Lady's Birth- 
day, too. Aren't you going to wish her a happy birthday?" 

David turned to the beautiful picture of the Blessed Virgin 
which hung near his bed. "Happy Birthday, dear Blessed 
Mother," he said. "I'm sure you are glad, because this is my 
First Communion Day." 

"And I am glad, too, Davy dear," said David's own mother. 
"And Jesus is glad," said David, "and I'm glad, and every- 
body's glad." He jumped out of bed and knelt beside Mother 
to say his morning prayer. 

After the nice, cold water had made David fresher and 
rosier than ever, Mother brought his pretty suit and all the 
neat, new things he would wear in honor of this great event. 

"I'll be all white," said David, "wmite outside and inside. 
But I'm glad I have black slippers; w T hite slippers are too girl- 
ish, aren't they, Mother?" He was buttoning the ankle-straps. 
"Mother!" James whispered at the door, "I'm going now." 
Everybody in the family knew that no one but Mother was to 
talk to David this morning, lest he might be distracted from 
the great thought which ought to fill his little mind. 



But David called out, "Good morning, James! It's my First 
Communion Day!" 

James came to the door again to answer, "Good morning, 
Davy! Pray for me; won't you?" Then, boy-like, he rushed 
away. 

"Yes, James," David called after him, "surely I will." And 
as James ran down the stairs, David asked, "Mother, why is 
James hurrying to church so early?" 

"James and Carl Huber are going to walk to church, Davy. 
They want to get things ready for Father Creedon's choir boys." 

"I'm glad the choir boys are going to sing at my First Com- 
munion," said David. "I wish Carl Huber would sing alone. 
I heard Father Creedon say Carl sings like an angel. He has 
a fine voice; hasn't he, Mother?" 

"Yes, David; God gave Carl a wonderful voice." 

"James has a fine voice, too," said David, who never lost 
a chance to say something nice about his big brother, "and he's 
bigger than Carl, and stronger." 

Mother took a beautiful gold medal out of a white leather 
case. "See, David," she said, "this is a medal of Our Lady. I 
want you to remember always, always, that you received your 
First Holy Communion on her birthday." 

"Oh, thank you, Mother! Is that my First Communion 
present from you?" 

"Yes, David." Mother pinned the gold medal on David's 
white linen coat. 

"And this," she said, handing him a white prayer-book with 
a lovely picture of the Good Shepherd on the cover, "this is the 
present your brother James bought for you. And Sister Moira 
saved her pennies and bought this rosary for you." 

It was a string of crystal beads on a gold chain, and it 
sparkled as Mother held it up in the sunshine; just the kind 
of pretty thing that Moira would love. 

"They're good to me ; aren't they, Mother? Everybody's good 
to me." The little fellow threw his arms around Mother's neck 

196 



and kissed her. Pressing the innocent child to her heart, she 
said: 

"David, your father thought you would like to have a gift 
for JESUS on your First Communion Day. You will give Jesus 
your heart, of course; but Father thought you would be glad 
to have another present for Him, too." 

"What is it, Mother? Tell me." He saw that Mother 
was holding something in her closed ringers. 

"This." She opened her hand, and there lay a big, shining 
gold piece — as big as a silver dollar! 

"Oh! Oh!" cried David, "I'm sure Father gave me that to 
put in the mite box we are filling for Aunt Moira. That's a 
lovely present for Jesus; I'm mighty glad to have it, Mother. 
May I put it in the mite box before we go to church?" 

"Yes, David. Come, you are ready now." 

David stood for a minute before the lovely picture of Our 
Lady. "See, dear Blessed Mother," he said. "I'm all dressed 
up for your birthday, and for my First Communion. Do you 
like me when I am all white?" Then, turning to his own 
mother, David asked, "Will Our Lady be at church when I 
make my First Communion?" 

"If you invite her, she will come," said Mother. 

"Come, dear Blessed Lady," David said, with his prettiest 
smile, "come to my First Communion." 

"Did you invite the picture?" Mother asked. 

David gave his bright little laugh, "Ho! the picture couldn't 
come. I invited Our Lady herself to come down from Heaven. 
Jesus will bring her; I'm sure He will, because this is her 
birthday." 

"Come, David." Mother took his hand. "Father is waiting 
for us at the front door." 



"Oh! Oh!" cried David, when he saw the two autos. "I'm 
glad everybody is going with me." He held up his beautiful 
rosary, when he caught sight of Moira, in her white dress and 
veil. 

"Do you like it, Davy?" she called. 

"It's just lovely, Moira; thank you." 

"Say a li'l prayah fo' me, ma li'l w'yte angel," said Susan. 
She was there in the first auto, with Moira and Lyda and Baby. 

"I'll pray for everybody," said David, spreading out his two 
arms. 

Then Harry Huber started the first machine, and they were 
off to church. 

Father helped Mother and David into the 
other auto, and he himself climbed in beside 
old Dan. Then they were off, too. 

"Father," said David, "I put my big gold 
dollar in the mite box. It was just the nicest 
present you could give me." 

"I'm glad it pleased you, son." He leaned 
back and let the little fellow give him a kiss. 

"Good mo'nin', li'l Davy," said Dan. 

"Good morning, Dan; I'm mighty glad you're coming with 
us." 

"So's / mighty glad, li'l Davy, mighty glad!" 

"Mother," said David, after a while, "I wish Michael could 
be here." Two big tears gathered in his eyes. "It's a long, long 
time since Michael went away with Father Tim. And he isn't 
cured yet; is he, Mother?" 

"No, David. Michael is just the same as he was when he 
left here. You will pray for Michael today; won't you, dear? 
This is his birthday, too, you know." 

"Yes, Mother. But I always pray for Michael. Mother, 
why don't God cure Michael? It would be so easy, so easy 
for Him to do it." 




"David, if God thought it was best for Michael to be cured, 
He would cure him. God always does what is best for us." 

"Shall I ask God to cure Michael today, Mother?" 

"David," said Mother, taking the child's two hands in hers, 
"when Jesus comes to you this morning, tell Him first of all 
how happy you are to have Him in your little heart. Tell Him 
you want to be a good boy, and you want to grow up to be a 
good man. And then tell Him how much you love Him, and 
how much you love His dear Blessed Mother." 

"And I'll tell Jesus, too, how glad I am He came on His 
Blessed Mother's birthday, and on Michael's birthday. And 
Mother, I'll just have to tell Him I'd be mighty, mighty glad 
if He would cure Michael. I couldn't help telling Jesus that, 
Mother." 

"Yes, tell Jesus that, David. And then you must say this 
prayer: 'Dear Jesus, You know what is best for Michael, and 
we shall be satisfied with whatever You do. Bless Michael, and 
bless everybody I love.' " 

David, with his hands still folded between Mother's two 
hands, repeated the prayer until he knew every word of it. 

And there they were at Father Tim's house! 

Ten little children — six boys and four girls — all in pure 
white, were soon formed in pro- 










cession. Then Moira was placed 
at the head of the whole line, 
because she knew just how to 
lead; and little David, the 
youngest of all, walked a few 
steps behind Moira, as the 
leader of the little boys. 

The choir boys marched be- 
fore the First Communicants 
to the church; the acolytes and 
Father Creedon followed them. 



As the procession went up the aisle, the choir boys sang a 
beautiful Ave Maria to greet Our Lady on her birthday. 

When Father Creedon passed into the sanctuary and began 
Holy Mass, the choir boys filed into their places at the side of 
the altar; and then one of little David's wishes came true. Carl 
Huber, in his clear, high voice, sang a hymn, all alone; and it 
really did sound as if an angel were singing. Each little boy 
and each little girl, among those First Communicants, felt that 
the song was for him or for her. 

W$t (©uartitan @Ln%zV$ Greeting 

On First Communion Day 

Dear happy child, dear little one, 
I greet you with the morning sun 
Which sends its gladdest golden ray 
Into your heart this glorious day 
To whisper that the hour is near 
When JESUS, JESUS, will be here. 

Then He will call you by your name. 
And He will say, "I'm glad I came. 
You love Me very much, I'm sure, 
And I love you; you are so pure. 
In little hearts all lily-white 
I find My rest, My sweet delight." 

"Dear Jesus," you will make reply, 
"If You are glad, much more am I. 
My little heart is Yours by right; 
Please help me keep it lily-white. 
Oh, grant my prayer this happy day: 
Sweet Jesus, be my Friend, and stay!" 

After that, Father Creedon spoke to the children. Every 
happy little face was turned toward him, and each loving little 
heart understood every word the good priest said. He talked 
to them about Jesus, and about Our Lady's Birthday, and about 
the great, great miracle of Holy Communion, when Jesus, whom 
they cannot see, because He is God, enters right into the soul 
of a little child, to make that little soul beautiful and to make 
it good and holy. 

The choir boys sang another hymn to Our Lady, Queen of 
the Angels, and I think the angels must have stopped their own 



singing to listen, so sweet and high were the choir boys' voices. 
Then began the solemn part of the Mass. 

The eyes of the children were fixed on the priest. Father 
Creedon had told them he would do just what Jesus himself 
did when St. Peter and the other apostles received their First 
Holy Communion. You know they received Holy Communion 
from Our Lord's own sacred hands, on the night when they 
gathered round Him at supper— His last supper with them be- 
fore He died. At that same time, Jesus said the very first Mass 
that was ever offered in this world. 

If you think of this, you can realize how earnestly David 
and the other little First Communicants watched, to see what 
Father Creedon would do next, at the holy altar, that beautiful 
September morning. 

So they saw the priest hold up high a small gold plate, with 
the white host on it — offering this pure bread to God. That is 
the very offering Jesus made, at the first Mass. 

They saw the priest pour wine and water into the gold 
chalice and then, returning to the center of the altar, raise the 
golden cup toward Heaven. And they knew that Our Lord did 
the same, that Holy Thursday night, before He suffered and 
died. 

The children had their prayer-books — -beautiful white ones, 
gifts for First Communion Day; and they were full of lovely 
pictures with simple little prayers in nice big print. When 
the children saw that Moira, their leader, was reading her 
prayer-book, they did the same. But soon all eyes were lifted 
to the altar again, while loving hearts were saying over and over, 
"Jesus, dear Jesus, come quickly; come to your little children 
who love you so." 

To Moira's mind, as she reverently followed the Mass, came 
again and again the thought, "This is Our Lady's Birthday." 
She loved the dear Blessed Virgin very, very much, and she was 
offering Mass and Communion (as Mother told her to do) in 
honor of Our Lady. 




A TRUE CHILD OF MARY 
In her happy heart, one little prayer was said over and over. 
"Dear Blessed Virgin, Keep Me Always Pure Like Unto Thee." 



In Moira's heart, one little prayer was said over and over, 
"O keep me always pure, dear Blessed Virgin, Mother of Jesus; 
I want to be like unto thee." 

A silver bell chimed sweetly. Everything was very, very 
silent in the church. The priest bent low over the altar. 

Then, very slowly and reverently, the priestly hands raised 
the little white Host up high — high enough for everybody to 
see. That little white Host was not bread any more. 77 was 

God; because Jesus himself had 
said, "This Is My Body." 

The great mystery of Conse- 
cration had taken place. The 
children knew now, that Jesus 
had come down from Heaven, 
at the words of the priest. He 
was there on the altar, among 
the lights and the lilies. They 
could not see Jesus; but the 
children bowed their little heads 
and adored Him. 

Then they remembered what 
Father Creedon had said about 
First Communion. Jesus was 
spreading out His arms, and He 
was saying to them the very 
words He spoke long ago in 

"come unto me!" t j 

J udea : 

Permit the little children to come unto Me, 

And forbid them not, 

For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Now, Carl Huber, and James, too, in red cassock and white 
surplice, came down from the rows of choir boys, and stood 
beside the little First Communicants. That was the sign for 
them to begin their own little hymn. David's clear sweet voice 
led all the rest; for Carl had trained him well. 

204 





THE GREAT MIRACLE OF HOLY COMMUNION HAD TAKEN PLACE. 
EACH LITTLE CHILD WAS CARRYING GOD. 



Commumon ^pmn 

Jesus! Thou art coming, Jesus! I believe it 
Holy as Thou art, On Thy only word; 

Thou the God Who made me, Kneeling, I adore Thee 
To my little heart. As my King and Lord. 

I am very sorry 

I have caused Thee pain, 
I will never, never 

Wound Thy Heart again. 

Put Thy kind arms round me, Since Thou comest, Jesus, 
Little as I am; Now to be my guest, 

Thou art my Good Shepherd, I can trust Thee always, 
I, Thy precious lamb. Lord, for all the rest. 

Dearest Lord, I love Thee, 

With my whole, whole heart; 
Not for what Thou givest, 

But for what Thou art. 

Come, oh come, sweet Saviour, 

Come to me, and stay, 
For I want Thee, Jesus, 

More than I can say. 

Slowly, slowly, with their little hands folded, the children 
walked up closer, closer to the altar, closer to Jesus who was 
holding out His arms to them. 

Little David was first. He knelt on the highest step of the 
altar. The priest bent down — reverently, tenderly. 

He placed on David's innocent tongue the small white Host. 
Then Jesus, God Himself, was with little David; and David 
knew it. 

The other children, boys and girls, all white and pure, each 
knelt in turn. And Jesus came to each one of them. 

Slowly, slowly, with their little hands folded, the children 
walked back to their places. Each child was carrying God. The 
great, great miracle of Holy Communion had taken place. 

The angels spread their white wings over the children and, 
while David's father and mother, and all the other parents, and 
the brothers, and sisters, went up to the alter to receive Our 
Lord, Carl Huber's wonderful voice sang another beautiful 
hymn. 

206 




Cfje (gtiarbtan gngel'* draper 

After First Holy Communion 

Jesu! God! I bow before 

This my child, and I adore 

Thy hid majesty. Thy power, 

Thy sweet mercy, this sweet hour. 

Heart to heart, and soul to soul, 

Bring my child 'neath Thy control. 

Faltering is his timid prayer, 

Yet he knows that Thou art there, 

Knows Thee (or his God, his Lord, 

Listening to each voiceless word; 

Listening, Jesu, God and Man, 

Listening as a mother can. 
Angels throned in Heaven's bliss 
Claim not love of Thine like this. 
Ah! 'tis well; earth's Guardians know 
Children's hearts, where lilies grow, 
Are Thy resting places sweet. 
Lord! I kneel at my child's feet! 

Kneeling, Jesu, boon I crave: 
For to guard and guide and save, 
Gavest Thou this child to me. 
Pure, I bring him unto Thee 
At this First Communion hour, 
Myst'ry of Thy love, Thy power. 
Let me keep him pure and white, 
Holy in Thy holy sight. 
Hid from me the future lies; 
All is open to Thy eyes. 
Let not Satan's foulness twine 
Where now twineth love like Thine. 
If Thou seest that sin's vile breath 
E'er should doom this soul to death, 
Let my wings be its defence, 
Let me take it, bear it hence; 
Let me bear it safe away, 
White and pure, as on this day. 



All that the Lord Jesus did in the souls of those little First 
Communicants, during that wonderful visit of fifteen blessed 
minutes, I do not know. All that those dear little children said 
to Jesus, I do not know. But this I do know, His visit made 
them very, very happy; and when they walked down the aisle 
after Holy Mass, they looked like little angels, every one of 
them. 

And the fathers and mothers were happy; everybody was 
happy; and the angels of happiness went with them into each 
home where a little First Communicant lived. 



Everywhere, they kept a birthday party in honor of Our 
Lady; but the loveliest birthday party of all was at little David's 
home. 

About two o'clock in the afternoon, Mother sent the autos 
down to the village to bring the ten little First Communicants. 
They had their party out under the great elm tree. There was 
a table out there, and it was beautifully decked in blue and 
white; those are Our Lady's colors, you know. 

When the children came to the table, they saw all kinds of 
good things. But the nicest thing of all was a present at each 
child's place. Mother had chosen for every little girl and every 
little boy a lovely picture of the Blessed Virgin; and it was in 
a pretty frame, ready to hang up near a little bed. 

All the pictures were different. Some of them showed Our 
Lady as a little girl, and some showed her as a beautiful, grown- 
up woman. In some pictures, Our Lady had little Boy Jesus; 
and in other pictures Jesus was a grown-up man, standing beside 
His Blessed Mother. So, you see, the children had the whole 
LIFE OF Our Lady in PICTURES; and they went around showing 
the pictures to one another, each one thinking that his picture 
or her picture was the loveliest of all. 

That evening, when the birthday party was over, Father 
came home from the city. The whole family was out on the 
front porch to meet him, and just as soon as he appeared they 
could see that he had something wonderfully good to tell them. 
He looked as happy as a boy and, putting his hand to his mouth, 
the way David and the boy scouts did, he sang out the clear, high 
call which means "Good News!" 




Down the path the children ran — James, Moira, and David. 

208 



They dragged Father to the porch; even his long strides were 
not fast enough for them. 

On the porch, Father drew two small papers from his pocket 
and handed them to Mother. 

"The first," he said, "is a message from Michael himself." 
"From Michael!" the children exclaimed. 
Mother read aloud these words: "Completely cured. Thank 
God and Our Lady." 

"The children held their breath; so great was their surprise 
and joy. 

"The second message," said Father, "is from your Uncle 
Charles." 

Mother read: "Doctors say Michael's cure 
is complete and wonderful." 

The children crowded about Father. James 
was silent — as he always was when something 
moved his heart deeply. He spoke only with 
his eyes — those gray eyes, like Mother's. But 
Moira and David had a dozen questions to ask. 
"Is it really, really true, Father, that our 
"straight and strong" own Michael is cured at last?" 

"It is really, really true, little daughter. The message from 
your Uncle Charles leaves no doubt about it." 

"And, when Michael comes home, will he be straight and 
strong, without a crutch; and will he be a boy scout captain 
again?" David asked these questions, in his practical little way. 
"He will, David." Father answered. And James let out a 
long, slow breath — as if he were blowing away a heavy weight 
that had been lying on his heart. The boy loved and admired 
Michael, as only a boy can. 

Some time before this, Mother had slipped quietly into the 
hall, alone. James followed her now; and so did Father. 

But David's bright eyes had spied old Dan coming up the 
driveway. "Good News!" he shouted, in his glad, high voice. 
"Good News!" Moira sang, like a happy bird. Together, the 





"JESUS, GOOD SHEPHERD AND DIVINE PHYSICIAN, IN THEE WE 
PLACE OUR TRUST." 



two children flew down the road, repeating over and over, 
"Michael's cured! Michael's all cured!" 

Father and James found Mother standing in the hall. With 
hands folded, she was gazing, oh! so earnestly and so grate- 
fully, at the picture of the Good Shepherd. They stood silently 
beside her a moment. Then, taking the two bits of paper which 
had brought such glad tidings to this happy home, Father fast- 
ened them securely near the hand of Jesus — the GOOD SHEP- 
HERD and the DIVINE PHYSICIAN, from whom come all 
good gifts. 




The next book of the series (now in preparation) will con- 
tinue the story of Michael and the Devera children. This en- 
velope story will enclose the Gospel Narrative of Our Divine 
Lord's Miracles just as, in the present volume, it has enclosed 
His Parables. Accompanying Christ and His disciples on their 
expeditions through Palestine, the children will become familiar 
with His country, His people and their mode of life, the Temple 
and the great Jewish festivals. They will know where and how 
Jesus went about doing good. 



SACRED PARABLES 

AND OTHER PASSAGES FROM HOLY SCRIPTURE 

Enclosed in the Several Chapters of this Envelope Story 
or therein referred to : 

PAGE 

The Beginning of the Public Life of Jesus .... 22 

Matthew iii. ; Mark i. 1-11 ; Luke iii. 21-23. 
Jesus Tempted in the Desert of Judea ..... 28 

Matthew iv. 8-1 1; Mark 1. 12-13; Luke iv. 5-8. 
Testimony of St. John Baptist to the Divinity of Jesus . . 29 

John i. 28-34. 
Meeting of Jesus with Two of the Baptist's Disciples . . 30 

John i. 35-39. 
Three More Disciples Acknowledge Jesus as Messiah . . 32 

John i. 40-50 

Miracle at the Wedding Feast in Cana of Galilee ... 34 

John ii. 1 -1 1. 

Parable of the Sower 43. 92 

Matthew xiii. 1-9; Mark iv. 1-9; Luke viii. 4-8. 

Christ's Explanation of the Parable of the Sower ... 45 

Matthew xiii. 18-23; Mark iv. 13-20; Luke viii. 11-15. 

Parable of the Wheat and the Cockle 48 

Matthew xiii. 24-30. 

Christ's Explanation of This Parable 49 

Matthew xiii. 36-43. 
Parable of the Mustard Seed ....... 54 

Matthew xiii. 31, 32; Mark iv. 30-34; Luke xiii. 18. 10. 
God as the Mighty Ruler of tfie Elements . . . . 6] 

From the Book of Job. 

Parable of the Fishing Net 07 

Matthew xiii. 47-53. 
The Storm on Lake Galilee — "Peace, Be Still!" ... 69 

Luke viii. 22-2(); Mark iv. 35-40; Matthew viii. 1S-27. 

The Sending Forth of the Seventy-two Disciples ... 79 

Luke x. 1 -16. 

Story of Zacheus, the Rich Publican 80 

Luke xix. 1-10. 

The Return of the Seventy-two Disciples .... 81 

Luke x. 17-21 . 



Christ and the Lawyer .82 

Luke x. 25-29. 
Parable of the Good Samaritan ....... 84 

Luke x. 29-37. 

Parable of the Barren Fig Tree . 94 

Luke xiii. 6-9. 
Parable of the Lost Sheep ....... 103, 114 

Luke xv. 1-7; Matthew xviii. 10-15. 

Cure of the Man Born Blind 107 

John ix. 1-41. 

Parable of the Good Shepherd 110, 112 

John x. 1-16. 

Parable of the Lost Groat 118 

Luke xv. 8-10. 

Parable of the Prodigal Son 126 

Luke xv. 11-24. 
The Prodigal's Elder Brother . . . . . . .131 

Luke xv. 25-32. 
Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican . . . . 133 

Luke xviii. 9-14. 
Christ Blessing Little Children . . . 138, 140, 166, 204 

Luke xviii. 15-17; Mark x. 13-16; Matthew xix. 13-15. 
Parable of the Unmerciful Servant ...... 146 

Matthew xviii. 21-33. 
The Lord's Prayer — "Forgive Us as We Forgive" . . .150 

Matthew vi. 7-16; Luke xi. 1-4. 
Parable of the Importunate Friend . . . . . . 151 

Luke xi. 5-13. 
Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus . . . . .152 

Luke xvi. 19-31. 
Parable of the Talents . . . . . . . . .160 

Matthew xxv. 14-30; Luke xix. 11-28. 
The Last Judgment — "You Did It to Me" ..... 162 

Matthew xxv. 31-46; Luke xiii. 22-30. 
"So Let Thy Light Shine Before Men" ..... 165 

Matthew v. 16. 
Christ and the Rich Young Man ...... 166 

Mark x. 17-23; Luke xviii. 18-24; Matthew xix. 16-23. 

The Camel and the Needle's Eye 168 

Mark x. 23-31 ; Luke xviii. 24-30; Matthew xix. 23-30. 

Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard 185 

Matthew xx. 1-16. 

The Birds of the Air and the Lilies of the Field . . . 191 

Luke xxi. 21-34; Matthew vi. 25-34. 

213 





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